Mass Effect 1. Rocky Re-Encounter

Jack is happy.

She isn't sure when exactly that happened. Maybe when she was back at Grissom Academy figuring out her life, spending time with the kids and actually having a purpose for once. Or maybe it happened when she moved to the Citadel where oddly, unexpectedly, she began to make friends; people she spent time with on Weekends, people who texted her about funny little irrelevancies just because.

She isn't an entirely different person, mind you; she still finds reasons to beat people up and cuss people out, and she does either with enthusiasm. But she certainly isn't as extreme as she once was, or as sad. Her life is a manageable balance of lessons and assignments, with more than enough in between to socialize.

It is a bizarre kind of normalcy, and Jack doesn't know how she arrived at it. One day she actually shocks herself with the realization that she is in her living room wearing a bathrobe and doing taxes.

Taxes.

She can't help but laugh at that (cackle, really), startling her roommate.

Jack is happy, and more "normal" than she has ever felt in her life. She isn't exactly "fixed" though. She still has nightmares, and those will never go away. She is still violent and curses way too much, and that probably will never go away either. But who isn't just a little strange in their own way?

Jack is just about happy, and just about normal, and like everyone in that situation, she is hesitantly holding open the door for more.

* * *

"What about him?"

Jack follows Traynor's gaze to a man leaning at the end of the bar. He's unshaven, though in that tasteful "I'm rich and can afford not to care" sort of way. His suit looks like it cost more than most people's houses.

Jack cracks up, "Okay, honestly, if he were a woman would _you_ be unto that?"

Traynor cocks her head to the side, pensive, "I don't know. I do like a lady in a suit. And if she's rich enough to take care of me, that's not too bad either"

Jack shakes her head, "Well screw that. Probably gets controlling after the third date. No fucking thank you"

"What about that one?"

Jack turns ever so subtly to see a grizzled marine-type, sitting alone at a table at the back of the room. He is contemplating a glass of scotch, before he downs the whole thing, bringing it back onto the table with a delicacy at odds with the muscular swell of his biceps.

"I don't know. He seems good, but he's too…I don't know, broody?"

"Are you seriously finding fault in the fact that he's too broody? You're like the broodiest person I know"

Jack gives her friend a look of deadpan annoyance, "Har, har. Can we not play this game anymore?"

Traynor laughs, "Oh come on! I was having fun! Let's switch up. For women now"

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and Jack finds herself grinning even as she rolls her eyes. "I don't think we would have the same taste in women, Sam"

"Well empathize. You should know me well enough by now"

Jack scans the barroom. "Okay, that one," she nudges her head towards a pretty young woman wearing something that might have doubled as a series of very expensive napkins.

"Ugh, if I were still in high school I would be utterly besotted. All I see now is a teen pregnancy waiting to happen, and a chain of unfortunate decisions that leads to Omega. The only way a girl like that would want to kiss another woman would be to impress a man"

"Jaded much? She might be cool"

"That is a very tenuous "Might." Next." Traynor finishes her drink.

"Maybe you should slow down with those. That's like your third one"

"No, no! I'm fine. Come on, I'm having fun. Next"

Jack hesitates.

"Next! Next!"

"Okay, shit," Jack laughs, unused to seeing Traynor so loose. She purses her lips, scanning the room. "Hey, what about her? She's pretty cute"

The woman in question is a bespectacled beauty with long black hair. A tad thin, but certainly not unhealthily so. She is wearing a long dress with a slit run up either leg. A jacket is thrown over her shoulders that clashes with the style, but she is too attractive for such a thing to matter.

"You're only pointing her out because she has glasses aren't you?"

"What? Are you saying you wouldn't be into her?"

"No. But look. She's with someone"

Indeed. The woman perks up at the sight of an Asari with a drink in each hand. They share a kiss before the Asari takes the seat next to her, jumping a little when the human's arm snakes around her waist. They smile at each other fondly.

"Aww, they're adorable!"

"I think I'm going to puke"

Traynor raises an eyebrow. "What? You don't want that for yourself someday?"

"How long have you known me? I'm terrible at relationships, so it's a moot point"

Traynor's eye glints dangerously, "Aha! But you didn't answer the question. Do you want that kind of happiness or not?"

Does she? Jack isn't sure. It's not one of those things she allows herself to consider lightly. She might have changed, but that doesn't mean she isn't still the same volatile, insecure and fragile person that Shepard fished out of Purgatory.

"I…"

Traynor leans in expectantly. Desperate to change the subject, Jack leans to the side, points randomly into the crowd, and blurts, "What about her?"

Her nervousness betrays her obvious attempt at misdirection, but Traynor seems to buy it and is unable to resist turning to see who Jack is pointing at.

"Ooh" she says, perking up, "she's gorgeous"

"Huh?" She follows Traynor's eyes to the butt of a very shapely woman who looks like she might have leapt from the pages of every straight man's fantasy. Jack's gaze lingers in appreciative reverie until the woman turns around, at which point her world screeches to a halt and her veins run cold. "Fuck," she mutters, scooting her chair so that Traynor is hiding her.

"What? What is it?"

"Nothing"

"You think she's with someone?"

Jack rolls her eyes, "Forget her, maybe we should get going now"

"What? Come on Jack, be serious. Do you think she's single?"

"Ugh. Probably not"

"You think so? Should I go talk to her?"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Uh…"

Traynor downs a shot. She slams the little glass down and nods. "Okay," she breathes, "I'm going in"

"Sam, you're drunk!" but Traynor is already strutting her way to Miranda's side, working her legs to full effect in that little black dress. People stare after her. Jack would stare after her too if she weren't so afraid of jeopardizing their friendship.

Finally makes her way to the woman's side, saying something that makes her turn around, smiling in a way that shows she's interested. Over the noise of the bar Jack can't quite make out what they're talking about, though Traynor wastes no time in pulling out all the time seductive stops. The woman is soon laughing at some joke, giving Traynor her full attention. Jack isn't sure if Traynor has unusually good game tonight or what, but before too long someone is casually touching someone else's arm, sliding fingers over bare skin a little too slowly to be innocent. Traynor sends Jack a brief, disbelieving smile that says "holy shit I can't believe this is working"

The woman sees Traynor doing this, and it is with a dawning sense of dread that Jack sees her eyes slowly trace over the vicinity of Jack's table. It is a brief look, and fortunately it seems not enough for recognition to set in. Jack sighs in relief as the woman's attention is once again turned to the flirtatious young woman in front of her. Go Traynor, she guesses.

There must have been some primal recognition at work deep in the woman's brain, because suddenly she seems distant, pensive. She looks back in Jack's direction as if just to make sure of something.

And Jack and Miranda's eyes meet.

They hold each other's stare, long enough that looking away and pretending one didn't see the other is impossible. Traynor is left looking between the two, confused, head swiveling back and forth, putting one and two together.

She grins, taking Miranda's hand and starting the short walk back to Jack's table.

"Christ Sam," mutters Jack, making pointless little motions to make herself scarce, succeeding only in simulating a series of small conniption fits until the two women finally arrive at the table.

Traynor is all enthusiasm, the kind born of the universal desire to screw with your friends, "Miranda, let me introduce you to-"

"Jack"

"Oh, so you do know each other. I thought so"

Jack glares at her friend.

"Yes," says Miranda, "we used to work together"

Jack snorts.

"You have to tell me _everything _about her! She tells me absolutely nothing about the past"

Jack shifts her glare to Miranda, unsuccessfully willing her thoughts to collide into the other woman's brain. "Don't tell her shit," the thought says, repeated over and over in Jack's mind as her eyes bore into Miranda's sole, who meets the intensity with a playful gaze of her own.

"Actually," says Miranda, a sardonic smile gracing her features, "the last time Jack and I really spoke, she promised that she would kill me"

The statement succeeds in sapping Traynor of most of her enthusiasm, granting her a brief moment of sobriety. "Oh. Well. This isn't awkward at all." She takes a small sip of her drink, then thinks better of it, and keeps on sipping until the glass is empty. "Why, exactly," she slurs, "did you say you would kill her?"

"Sam, just so you know, you are being the worst friend right now"

"Well I'm drunk. I don't know if you noticed earlier. There is _no_ way I would be able to hit on _this_," she gestures to all of Miranda, "sober. Less be honest. Way out of my league"

"Okaaay big girl, you are officially cut-off." Jack grabs Traynor's drink, which has mysteriously re-filled itself.

"Probably a good idea. I just used up every cool bone in my body chatting up this one"

"I'm suddenly feeling very objectified over here"

"Then you shouldn't have worn that dress," says Traynor, leaning her elbow against the table and resting her cheek flirtatiously on her hand, "you look fan-tas-tic"

"Aw, thank you"

Traynor's elbow immediately slips off the table and Jack has to catch her before she falls.

"We should probably get going," says Jack, grabbing Traynor's coat with the hand not supporting Traynor herself. "Stupid taxi better be outside"

"I can drive you if you want," offers Miranda. Jack hesitates. An uncertain cab or a ride home from her former arch-enemy?

Ten minutes later she's in the front seat of Miranda's ridiculously expensive sports car with Traynor laid out in the back, already half-asleep. The last drink must have hit her hard. Jack spends the ride looking doggedly out the window, trying her hardest not to see Miranda in the reflection contentedly maneuvering the congested Citadel airways.

Every now and then Miranda looks at Jack looking at her in the reflection of the window, and Jack grimaces and looks away.

Finally they arrive at one of the nicer neighborhoods of Tayseri Ward, pulling into a lofty garage directly annexed to an apartment.

Miranda follows Jack as she carries Traynor (snoring and giggling) into the apartment.

"Are you two…?"

"None of your business," says Jack, negotiating Traynor through the darkness of the apartment with some difficulty until Miranda switches on the lights. She grunts as a thank you. "We're roommates"

"What?"

"Sam and I, we're roommates. Pay attention, fuck"

Arriving at the bedroom, she lays Traynor delicately onto the bed. Jack leans back assessing her work, then curses and undergoes the necessary task of taking off Traynor's dress while averting her eyes. It was pretty obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra. Jack allows herself a moment of self-derisive laughter as she realizes the absurdity that is her tucking in anybody. She finishes off the job by elevating Traynor's head on a folded pillow.

When she's finished, Miranda helpfully puts a bucket next to the bed, saying "just in case" when Jack gives her a sarcastic hooding of the eyes. The two of them look down at the sleeping Samantha Traynor.

"I never thought I would see you like this"

"Like what?"

"Warm, caring. Hell you even have a roommate that you don't seem to have killed yet"

Jack scoffs. "Are you _trying_ to piss me off?"

"Not at all," says Miranda, sounding contrite but pointedly not apologizing either, "It's a pleasant surprise really"

"Well excuuuuse me for not killing you earlier, princess." Jack stalks back into the main room, opening the fridge and fishing out a beer. Closing it with a crash, she jumps onto the long couch, slumping into the cushions.

Not having been asked to leave, Miranda shrugs and follows, primly taking a seat on a weather-beaten leather sofa and shrieking when she sinks half a foot into its depth. Jack laughs at Miranda's flailing, wiping specks of beer from her lips as they come out with each chortle.

"Oh grow up"

"What? It's funny." Upon catching her breath she smiles, her innate exasperation with Miranda toning down a bit. "You sticking around?"

"Yes, I suppose it wouldn't hurt for us to catch up"

"Whatever," says Jack, "want something to drink?"

"Sure. Do you have a-"

"Yeah whatever it is, get it yourself. Sam probably has something you'd like"

If the rudeness bothers her Miranda makes no indication. She struggles out of the sofa, making her way to the fridge and perusing for a while before spotting a bottle of sherry in one of the cabinets: definitely not Jack's. "You have a very nice apartment," she says, pouring the alcohol into a glass.

"You think I did this? Interior decoration isn't exactly my thing, cheerleader. This is all Sam"

"Well in any case it's nice"

"Thanks, I guess"

Miranda takes a seat on the couch, just a ways from Jack. She smooths out some creases in her dress. "So…how've you been Jack?"

Jack laughs, a low cathartic rumble tempered with alcohol. "Okay, you are officially ridiculous. Why are you being nice?"

"I can't be nice?"

"Not to me. It's freaking me out"

"So, you would be more comfortable if I insulted you? Now who's being ridiculous?"

Jack has nothing to say to that, supposing she ought to take it as a joke, but unable to laugh. She does smile though, shakes her head, and sips her beer. Miranda smiles in turn at the grudging silence: as much admittance as Jack is likely to give.

"Come on, talk to me," says Miranda, leaning back, feeling rather like a tiger trying to coax enthusiasm from a bear, "We can catch up"

"Ugh," Jack averts her eyes, "this is so weird"

The reticence is strangely endearing. Miranda make's herself comfortable.

"I don't know what happened in the last few years, but you've become kind of cute you know that?"


	2. Bubbling Chemistry

Jack works at the Grissom Facility in Shalta ward. Originally an Alliance college, it now serves as only a part of the sprawling Citadel University, an effort by all Council Races to diversify galactic education. This means that while many of Jack's students are human, they are also Turian, Asari, Drell; pretty much any individual capable of highly advanced combat biotics.

She is a very good teacher, and widely liked by the student body (which, considering she only actually teaches a small percentage of those kids, is pretty impressive). Her hands-on approach to teaching and general unpredictability make her as effective as she is popular.

At first she was seen as something of a square. Students didn't dislike her so much as they thought she was too dull. Those were the days when she thought she had to exercise monstrous amounts of self-control, to rein in her violence and language. She loves teaching, and she didn't want to give anyone reason to keep her from it.

Of course this did not last. Jack could not maintain military discipline while the very idea of it clashed fundamentally with who she was. And like any teacher, Jack was soon faced with belligerent students who just didn't seem to give a fuck however many times she asked them to please stop talking while she was talking. It wasn't until one of them actually grinned at her and kept on fucking talking that she hoisted him into the air with stringent biotic force and told him to "shut the fuck up or I'll show you how we took care of bitches like you in prison."

That captured everyone's attention, and Jack became something of a campus celebrity overnight. Her classes remained untouched, and Jack figured she could go back to running them how she liked. Still, there are instances when she has to keep her emotions in check.

"Jenkins?"

"Here"

"Delitia?"

"Here"

"Atunauch?"

"Present, Ma'am"

"At ease soldier. This ain't the fuckin' primacy"

"Apologies, Ma'am"

"That's…whatever. Vivian?"

"Here"

Jack only pays each student a cursory glance as she calls their names, but as she looks over her clipboard at Alexandra Vivian, her gaze lingers. She pauses, the silence drawing out, disrupting the rhythm of roll call. Other students turn to follow Jack's gaze, curious as to the cause of the hold-up.

All eyes converge on the Alexandra Vivian.

The young woman nervously looks from side to side at the eyes watching her, surprised and unnerved by the attention, but mostly by Jack's scrutiny. Having Jack focus her attention on any one student was rarely a comfortable experience.

"Um…is there something you else…professor?"

"Your hair. What's up with your hair?"

"I…got it styled," Alex says, visibly distressed.

Jack purses her lips, still staring.

"Um, it- there was a picture in the magazine and I thought- uh, I- I thought it looked good…"

Alexandra Vivian had, up until the moment she got that haircut, prided herself on never doing anything mainstream. She is something of a hipster. But like all hipsters, there are things about her she cannot help; things that are very, VERY mainstream. A case in point: her haircut, a style commonly known throughout the galaxy (even among species that did not have hair) as "the Shepard." It was to be Vivian's acknowledgment to herself; she did not wear her haircut ironically, but bore it proudly as a fan of the galaxy's savior.

However in the face of Jack's single, vaguely disapproving raised eyebrow, she was slowly beginning to question that decision.

Jack scrutinizes the dyed red locks, the weirdly-styled dishevelment. Christ, now that Jack gets a good look at her, Vivian has even done her make-up like Shepard would. If only Shepard did beauty commercials she could make millions.

"Am I in trouble, professor?"

Jack's lips pull taut into an expression of comic incredulity. "Really?" She wants to say, "HAHAHAHAHA!" she wants to say, but for the sake of the young woman's likely crippling self-doubt, she decides to stay silent.

"Moving on"

Vivian sighs with relief.

As soon as Jack has demonstrated the correct form, class practically runs itself. Today's subject: shockwaves. The students form loose groups of three, setting up dummies and taking turns bowling them down. For safety the "lanes" are divided by shielded barriers that halt the often erratic shockwave patterns.

Jack stands back and watches the kids practice, yelling out advice as she sees fit. She ends the session with some Asari meditation techniques she picked up during a maddening three-week seminar on Thessia. Sure, she did end up learning a few things, but she spent a lot of time restraining herself from throttling her matriarchal teacher.

Finally she dismisses the students, standing back in the training rooms to get some practice of her own in. She puts on some earbuds, playing workout music to compound the exercise. As the last of the students trail out the door she starts pounding at a massive weight, knocking it around with biotically-enhanced blows. It is a delicate task; if she weren't using her biotics the high-velocity punches and kicks would break her bones.

"Professor?"

Startled, Jack whirls on Alexandra Vivian, fist raised with a bright blue corona swirling around it. The girl instantly cringes, sputtering "oh god please don't kill me!" over and over again. Jack relaxes, extending a hand to help her up. She's out of her workout clothes, and Jack makes an inward groan at the sight of an N-7 hoodie.

Jack rips out her earbuds. "Don't sneak up on me like that Vivian, fuck!"

"Sorry, professor," she squeaks.

"What is it? You have a question about your homework?"

"Um, no, I…" she looks behind her, as if seeking courage from her friend, an Asari that Jack hadn't seen earlier. The Asari makes a thumbs-up. "We were wondering, um. There are some rumors…"

"What rumors?"

"Uh…that you know Commander Shepard. I was wondering…"

Jack sigs. She should have known. "No, I don't actually know the savior of the galaxy," says Jack, lying through her teeth, "and she's not a commander anymore. Everyone gets that wrong"

"O-oh," stammers Vivian, disappointed. "It's just that Jien says that, um…" Vivian trails off, looking to her friend.

The Asari steps forward, vastly more confident than her friend. "When _Chancellor_ Shepard gave that guest lecture last year you were one of the only teachers the guards allowed to talk to her. I saw you. You seemed pretty friendly." Jien's voice carries a playful insinuation, though Jack can see that she is just as desperately hopeful as Vivian.

"I don't know what to tell you," says Jack, "she, uh, just wanted to thank me for my service during the war. The former STG guy, Helicks, he got to talk to her too"

The two girls are crestfallen, and excuse themselves with muttered apologies for wasting Jack's time. Jack watches them leave, feeling a little bad but not regretting her lie. She gets enough undue attention around here anyway.

"Do you make it a habit to lie to your students like that Jack?"

That voice. Jack crosses her arms and leans against her practice weight.

"Cheerleader. Why am I not surprised?" Miranda steps into the pallid lighting of the practice room. As soon as she makes her way to Jack's side, Jack turns back to her improvised punching bag and punches it.

"No. I just happened to be close by and figured I'd sit-in during one of your classes. Unfortunately you were already finished, though I managed to catch that little exchange with the Shepard fangirls"

Jack chuckles, "Can you believe them? Probably have posters of her in their lockers"

Miranda laughs as well, "I'll admit, it does seem pretty ridiculous at times. But it's great that she's such a good role-model, don't you think?"

"Role model. Right. She once pushed a man out of a building because he was giving her too much attitude. Remember that?"

"To be fair he _was_ being very rude"

The two of them share another laugh. Jack hasn't reminisced like this with anyone other than Shepard herself, and sharing memories with the Cerberus bitch is unsettlingly pleasant. What happened to all that anger she had reserved for Miranda?

"So…you just stopped by, huh?"

"Is that so hard to believe? I thought we had fun the other night, just hanging out." Miranda enunciates "hanging out" like the term is utterly unfamiliar; foreign vernacular for her highly standardized vocabulary.

"Heh, maybe"

Without warning Miranda thrusts a biotically-charged kick into the practice weight, scooting it several meters away until tilts and falls on its side.

Jack whistles in appreciation. "That was actually not bad Cerberus bitch"

"You're not the only one genetically-engineered for superior biotics"

"That a challenge?" Asks Jack, smirking. She pulls the weight back in a flare of brilliant blue and stands it back up again. She then slowly brings her arms behind her, posturing them, before bringing a tight fist crashing forward, moving with the forward momentum of her body. Her hand swirls with biotic power, slamming into the weight and pushing it farther than Miranda's kick.

"Martial arts," says Miranda, "I'm surprised, where'd you pick that up?" She brings the weight back with little difficulty.

"Anger-management," says Jack, smirking.

"It's effective." Miranda steps back, assuming an unfamiliar stance. Miranda leaps, an elegance that almost looks like it will lead into a pirouette, until she dives onto the ground. She rolls to her feet in a complicated motion, a biotic corona forming around her body, whirling in strange, erratic motions. Miranda slams shoulder-first into the weight, lifting it off the ground and throwing it almost far enough to hit the wall.

Jack grins. "Where the hell did you learn that?"

"Therapy. On Thessia. Probably similar to whatever you got"

Jack raises an amused eyebrow, bringing the practice weight back with a wave of her hand.

"Challenge accepted"

Before too long the two of them are sweating, exhausted. The practice weight is thoroughly battered. Large dents mar its otherwise smooth surface, signs of warp-induced disintegration and full-on biotic strikes. Neither Jack nor Miranda had really won the competition as both of them had only been able to hit the weight as far as the walls of the facility would allow.

"Not bad Jack," says Miranda, drinking from Jack's water bottle.

"You haven't gotten too rusty yourself. Sure you didn't break a nail?"

Miranda laughs, before a thought occurs to her and she checks the time. Her eyes widen. "Dammit I'm a mess now," she says, subtly opening the neck of her blouse to take a surreptitious sniff inside, "I'll have to go back home and change"

"Got somewhere to be cheerleader?"

"Yes, actually. I have a date. With Samantha"

Jack's world screeches to a halt. "Wait you…what?"

"A date with your roommate, Samantha. Well, lunch really, but I'm counting it as a date"

Jack isn't sure how she feels about that, a protectiveness she didn't know she had rousing itself into groggy wakefulness. "I didn't think you two had talked much"

"We didn't, but she slipped her number in my purse when she was still lucid so…I gave her a call." Miranda tosses Jack her water bottle, "In any case, I'd better get going. This was fun, Jack. We should do it again sometime"

Jack has no answer, and is left in an empty gym, the door closing shut and echoing cavernously across the walls.

"What the fuck just happened?"

* * *

Samantha Traynor is extremely nervous.

She wasn't sure if the call she had got yesterday was real or not, but figuring she ought to take her chances she shows up at the designated restaurant at the designated time anyway. Her outfit is the result of a morning spent agonizing over her closet, unsure if "lunch" demanded casual, formal, or some other ridiculous contrived social dress requirement. Finally she had settled on something utilitarian, yet stylish; it said "you saw me drunk the other night, but underneath that sloppy exterior was a smart, intelligent woman that I present to you now." Slacks are involved.

Drunk though she may have been the other night, she was still brave. Sober Traynor is not so brave, waiting at an outdoor table waiting for a woman to arrive who, if she remembers correctly, is jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

And somehow acquainted with her roommate, but that is a mystery for another time.

Finally Miranda arrives, looking spectacular in a turtle-neck and skirt that shows off her curves. If Traynor wasn't nervous before, she is now.

"Hello Samantha," says Miranda, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek, "good to see you." Traynor's hand grips the tablecloth in sudden vindication. "Sorry I'm late. I got caught up at the gym"

"H-hey," she manages, "that's okay. Good to see you too." Miranda removes her jacket, placing it on the back of her seat and sitting down. She looks gorgeous. "To be honest I'm surprised you actually called me considering how inebriated I was the other night"

"Not at all, I thought you were charming. I couldn't even tell you were drunk at first"

"In any case I'm sorry. I'm not usually that…carefree. I'm actually pretty boring, all things considered"

"I'll be the judge of that," says Miranda, "you can't be too boring considering the company you keep"

"You mean Jack?" Traynor's eyes soften, "I suppose so. She's pretty out-there"

"How on Earth did you become roommates with someone like her?"

Traynor laughs, "That's…a long story actually. Though cutting it short I suppose you could just say I needed a roommate and she happened to be a friend of a friend, so…yeah. It worked out somehow"

"When she and I were working together she was pretty…volatile. She hated being around people"

"That sounds like her. She's still fairly…"

"Moody? Quick to anger?"

Traynor frowns, "I was going to say closed-off. It took her a very long time to open up to me even a little. I still don't know what kind of life she used to live before she started teaching"

Miranda says nothing.

"I…well, what matters is we get along now. She's very important to me"

"I could sense that. You take good care of her, if your apartment is any indication"

Traynor laughs, "Hardly. I'm a total slob," she hesitates at Miranda's amused smirk, "er, I mean, I'm about as messy as the average person. Jack is the one who keeps everything clean. She's a bit obsessed with order and putting things in the right place"

Miranda nods. That would be in keeping with someone trying to distance themselves from a past like Jack's.

She smiles, trying to lighten the mood, "Anyway, I don't want to give you the impression that I called you just to talk about Jack"

Traynor smiles shyly, "So…this _is_ a date then? Despite my behavior last Saturday?"

"Well, Samantha," says Miranda, suddenly coy, "if that's okay with you, then yes"

"Absolutely! Yes! Er, I mean. Yes. I would like that"

"Great," says Miranda, picking up the menu, "Have you been here before? The braised pyjak is to die for"

Traynor laughs, "You're kidding"

As soon as the meals are ordered and the food delivered, they settle in to eat.

"Tell me about yourself Miranda, I don't know anything about you. What do you do for a living?"

"Fair enough. I…I guess you could say that I run a series of discreet companies that offer a wide variety of services, primarily research"

"That tells me absolutely nothing about you"

"I'm a mystery like that," says Miranda, "it's actually some pretty secretive stuff"

"Ooh, sounds exciting"

"It's boring mostly. Intergalactic trading…stuff like that"

"And the research? You mentioned research"

"Ah, well, that's the confidential bit"

Traynor pouts, but grins a second later. "I'm a pretty good data analyst you know. I could probably find out on my own"

"Could you?" Miranda laughs, "By all means, go ahead. I can't really tell you myself though"

Traynor leans back in her chair and sighs. "How is it that I always manage to surround myself with such mysterious people?"

"Maybe mysterious is your type"

"I suppose so. Is that how you met Jack? Through one of your mysterious research channels?"

"Indirectly, I suppose," Miranda smiles ruefully, "Well, not as such. The time we worked together was far from the norm. Fate of the galaxy kind of stuff"

"Fate of the galaxy huh? Was Jane Shepard involved? That's how I met Jack"

Miranda offers a little smile, "Could be"

"You remind me of her actually. Jack, I mean, not Shepard. Always keeping secrets. It sounds pretty lonely"

The humor slowly drains from Miranda's face. She says nothing.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's alright, Sam. It's…you're right, actually. I may not look it but I am a fairly lonely person." She shrugs, "You could say this date is my attempt to rejoin the world of the living"

"I'm glad," says Traynor, smiling. She takes Miranda's hand, "I have experience getting lonely people to come out of their shells"


	3. Struggling to Change

Miranda tries to be nicer to people. Generally she is unsuccessful, more often than not coming across as a colossal bitch. At work this is a necessity, as business is a cut-throat arena, and if your foot isn't set on a solid trajectory for your opponent's balls, then clearly you're doing something wrong.

In her casual interactions however, the bitchiness is more of a habit; echoes from her days as an unforgiving Cerberus loyalist. She's working on that though. When she receives unwelcome advances, she attempts to politely reject rather than mercilessly belittle (do violence upon). When someone gets in her way, she patiently waits rather than having that person _removed_.

She hasn't stopped being a frosty individual, but at least she isn't as kill-stabby as she once was.

However she does always comes across as warm and caring with friends and family. She doesn't have much of the former, and exactly one of the latter, so she heaps both with the mountains of good will that accumulate over the days when she is generally unpleasant.

For her sister Oriana, this manifests itself in the form of a doting and overprotective big sister. Very overprotective.

Oriana's boyfriend Matt had been pretty enthused about meeting Miranda for the first time. Oriana's role-model; it was a big deal. He had heard stories about her, had seen pictures of her ("Wow your sister is hot!"), and was ready to be presented for approval.

What he is met with is a frigid stare-down to rival the icy gaze of a Krogan on whose foot one has just stepped.

Cold eyes lance into his body as he and Oriana sit across from Miranda, the three of them seated in a family restaurant close to Oriana's campus. Miranda's body language oozes hostility; she has one leg crossed over another, arms crossed, lips are pursed like she's looking at something her cat has coughed up.

In the face of this impressive display, all Matt can look at is the butt of a pistol sticking obviously out of Miranda's purse. The safety is quite distinctly switched off.

Oriana, spotting this as well, can already tell that this is going to be rough.

"Hi Miranda. It's, um, nice to finally meet you"

"Likewise, Matt"

"So Oriana tells me you're in finance"

"Among other things"

"That's cool, that's cool." Matt starts to sweat. "I'll bet you've heard a lot about me from Oriana, huh?"

"I have. Though not all from Ori"

"Uhm…what…what do you-"

"I heard that when you were six you cut open your younger brother's hand. Tell me about that"

"How do you know about that? We were playing with a bicycle, it was an accident"

"Understandable. You're quite close to your brother now, yes?"

"Yes, we…" Cold eyes continue to bore into his own. Matt leans close to Oriana and whispering, "I'm scared, babe"

"You said you wanted to meet her. I said you weren't ready, but you insisted"

"Oriana…she has a gun"

Oriana sighs. "Miri, please stop scaring my boyfriend. He's a good guy. Really"

Miranda doesn't let up on her staring, "You sure about that? His favorite color is orange. There are studies that show-"

"Miri…"

The stare lasts for a little while longer. Finally Miranda smiles, leaning back and holding up her hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll let off"

"Matt you can stop crying now, Miranda's not really out to kill you"

Matt wipes at his eyes, "I-I wasn't crying! I just- had something in my eye"

Miranda relaxes her hostile posture. "Sorry Matt, you seem like a good guy. I was just playing the part of the older sibling. You know how it is"

"O-oh! Yeah, no I get that. I'm pretty protective of my little siblings too. Whew, wow! You really had me going there!"

"Thank you," says Miranda, her smile filled with sudden, good humor, "I pride myself on my ability to intimidate"

"Ha! No kidding. The fake gun really had me sweating bullets"

Miranda's smile disappears in an instant. "Oh no, the gun's real," she takes it out of her purse, holding it up and spinning it one-handed. "M-77 Paladin. Heavy stopping power, but easily-concealed. I've killed more men with this gun than I can even remember"

Matt swallows, smiling on impulse. "R-really?"

"Oh yes, really. You can't imagine how easy it gets after you kill your first few mercenaries. It's like they stop being people. You know they're just doing their job but you can't help but take it personally, and the vindication you feel when you put a bullet in their heads-"

"Miri…"

"Oh! Silly me, there I go again. I'm sorry Matt. This overprotectiveness thing, it's hard to turn it off"

"D-do you really kill people?"

"Not so much anymore. But I used to, very often"

Matt eyes expand to the size of dinner plates, his expression deadening into a numb non-face. Miranda sounds flippant, but the edge in her voice tells him she isn't lying. He had expected something like this. He had thought he could handle it. After all he had pulled the same tactic on his little sister's boyfriends.

Miranda is…something else.

"I have to go to the bathroom. Please excuse me"

Miranda smiles pleasantly, "Of course"

As he gets up, walking to the bathroom on creaky legs, Oriana fixes her sister with an exasperated glare.

"Do you really have to do that?"

"I'm sorry Ori," laughs Miranda, "I'm genuinely trying not to. It just slips out"

"Well try harder. I really like this guy"

"He seems like a good man. I like him"

"Good! Please tell him that when he gets back. I swear you nearly made him pee his pants." She shakes her head, "When do I get to do this to you?"

"Actually, you might be able to very soon"

"Wait, you're seeing somebody? Like, for serious?"

"Yes…"

"Oh my god! Why didn't you tell me!?"

"Is it supposed to be big news?"

"Of course it's big news! You're my sister; you have to tell me these things!"

"Do I? I had no idea"

"Don't be a smartass. Come on, tell me all about him. What does he looks like? Is he handsome? What does he do for a living?"

Miranda smiles at Oriana's blustering enthusiasm. "It's no big deal, Ori. We've only been on a few dates, but…" Miranda bites her lip, "I'm feeling pretty good about her"

"Her? Wait, it's a woman?" Oriana looks down at the table, eyebrows shooting up and down the way they do when she's thinking something out. "I think you just blew my mind"

"Surprised?"

"Yes! You can't just drop a bomb like that!" Oriana shakes her head, "You need to communicate these things better. I never would have guessed. Tell me about her. What's her name?"

Miranda sports an uncharacteristically shy expression. "Samantha. Her name is Samantha"

* * *

Hiding under the desk was pointless; she knew that even back then. But it helped. The darkness, the seclusion; that desk was her first inner sanctum, and for years to come Jack would feel safest only in such uncomfortably tiny nooks and crannies.

Of course that doesn't apply anymore. She has a bed after all. And most nights she can sleep in it no problem.

But trauma like Jack's doesn't just go away. You can live with it, deal with it, and maybe even overcome it. But it is so deeply rooted into the psyche that it can never be completely removed.

Jack wakes up curled up on the floor, muscles aching, cold. It's dark, but she can just about make out the faint outline of her bed on the other side of the room. Confused, she reaches up a hand, bumping it against a hard surface. She gropes along its length, feeling the wooden contours of her desk.

"Fuck"

With a flick of her omnitool she has the lights of her room flickering into life. She groans, crawling out from under her desk, feeling the full extent of her soreness. Standing in the middle of her room she stretches out, joints popping in relief.

The details of her nightmare are blessedly vague, just impressions of the old Teltin facility. Blood on her hands, dead kids; same old thing. She feels desensitized, and it disgusts her.

One echo of the dream, however, rings loud and clear.

"**It wasn't Cerberus, not really. Though clearly you were a mistake"**

Jack growls.

She throws on a thin dressing gown and shuffles into the living room, too agitated for sleep. Standing over the sink, she downs an entire glass of bourbon before filling another and walking to the window, staring moodily out into the Citadel expanse. Millions of lights shimmer like tight constellations. It is with delayed awareness that she notices drops of alcohol spill out of the glass, dripping onto the floor and on her foot.

Her hands are shaking. Not so desensitized after all.

The glass drops, shattering on the floor. Jack curses, fumbling to pick up the pieces only to step on an errant shard. She yelps in pain, stumbling to the floor.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." The shard has broken the skin, embedded into her foot. "Argh"

"Jack?"

Jack groans. Perfect timing. She utters a final, resigned "fuck," and turns to see Traynor sticking her head out of her room, still in her PJs, hair frazzly from sleep.

"Oh my god! Jack, what happened?" She hurries to Jack's side, stepping carefully over pieces of glass. She hisses at the sight of Jack's foot; "That looks nasty." Traynor helps her over to their recliner, lowering Jack as gently as she can. "I'll be right back," she says, retreating into her room. Seconds later she's back with a first-aid kit, and wastes no time administering to the wound.

"How did this happen?"

"I slipped"

Traynor rolls her eyes, fixing her with a look. "Tell me the truth, your hands are shaking"

"Argh, dammit," Jack forgot about that. She grips one hand in the other, wringing them in an effort to get the shaking to stop. It doesn't work and she doesn't reply.

Traynor sighs, frustrated at the silence. But otherwise she says nothing, focusing on treating the wound. Jack winces as the shard is tugged out with tweezers, and winces again as Traynor cleans the wound with alcohol-soaked cotton swabs. With her foot finally bandaged, Traynor moves to sweep up the rest of the glass.

Jack watches her work, resenting that Traynor had seen her in a moment of weakness and yet loving that her immediate concern was taking care of Jack. Back when they signed the lease together she hadn't thought that they would ever become so close, let alone become friends. If Jack knows Traynor, and she does, a serious conversation is about to go down that she would rather avoid.

Jack tries to get up, bracing her hands against the armrests and slowly, surreptitiously beginning to push.

"Oh no, you stay right where you are"

Jack gasps as Traynor pushes her back down, further into the inescapably deep softness of the cushions. "Rest here for now; I'll go get you a blanket"

"I'm not an invalid Sam. I've had worse than this"

But Sam has already left, scrounging around in the hallway closet for a blanket.

Jack can't help but laugh, "What are you, my Mom?"

"I'm your friend Jack," says Traynor, returning with a thick woolen affair that she drapes over the injured biotic, tucking in the sides. "Friends look out for each other." A silence passes before she asks, "Are you going to tell me what this was really about?"

"I…" Jack trails off, frowning.

Traynor sighs, "I won't press the issue, even though I really, really want to. But you know I care for you right? Seriously, you're like my best friend. I really wish you wouldn't keep shutting me out like this"

"It's hard for me to talk about, okay? I've…I've been through some pretty messed up shit"

"Please Jack. I worry about you"

Jack tries to summon the words, but she can't. Hot tears of frustration threaten at her eyes. Why does Traynor have to pressure her like this!?

A hand takes ahold of her own, fingers intertwining. Jack looks up, surprised. Traynor is smiling gently, apologetically, leaning forward to rest her forehead on Jack's. "I'm sorry," she whispers, and Jack wants to tell her that no, _she's_ sorry. She wants to say she wishes she could just open up if only it were so easy.

But Traynor is great, leaning back and still smiling that reassuring smile. She turns on the TV, "If you can't sleep then let's do something less depressing than gazing out the window shall we?" She changes the channels until they're watching a rerun of _Outlaws of the Code_.

Jack laughs, squeezing Traynor's hand just a bit. "Seriously?"

"What? I like this show"

The tears fall down her cheeks, but no more follow, and in the middle of laughing at the ridiculous plot Jack wonders if she had always been in love with Samantha Traynor, or if it had only started just now.


	4. Downward Windfall

Author's Note: Work started again, so I've been getting less and less time to write. Sorry about any case, this story will meander a bit, as I never really bought into the whole idea that Jack and Miranda, two very contentious individuals, can get together easily, even if they have mellowed out. Thanks for reading.

* * *

"Samantha tells me you have nightmares"

Jack pauses, a spoonful of curry comically poised in front of her mouth. She puts it down, not looking anywhere but at her food, and certainly not at Miranda.

They're seated at a fast-food joint somewhere in Zakera Ward, just a short ride away from Citadel University. Miranda had swung by once again, and to her surprise Jack wasn't the least bit perturbed, or even annoyed. "You stalking me Cheerleader?" she said, before smirking and climbing into the car. There had been no other exchange, just a smile in return and an unspoken agreement to shut up and get in.

It was strange, her relationship with Miranda. They were never really friends; practically enemies when they were on the Normandy. That kind of hate breeds an odd kind of familiarity, one where they aren't insecure around each other, because whatever doubts they have about themselves are already acknowledged by the other.

Yes, what they have might not be friendship. But whatever they it is, it's pretty close.

Still, concern is a new ingredient in their relationship.

"She told you about that?"

"Yes"

Miranda keeps eating like she hasn't brought up anything huge. When she looks up, meeting Jack's eyes, there are flecks of curry sauce stuck around her mouth. Jack can't help but laugh; she covers her mouth.

"You're reacting better than I thought you would"

Jack shakes her head, shoulders trembling with stifled laughter. "No," she says, the word coming out in a muffle with the food still in her mouth.

"What?" says Miranda, confused, "What is it?"

Jack swallows, takes her napkin from the dispenser and reaches over the table to wipe Miranda's mouth.

"Oh," says Miranda, "thanks. Let me-" she tries to take the napkin but Jack swats her hand away.

"What are you a kid? I got this, stop squirming"

Miranda sighs and stays still, looking the most childish Jack has ever seen her. She laughs, tossing the napkin to the side. Her smile fades as she considers Miranda's initial comment.

"She told you about that huh?"

"Yeah"

Jack leans her elbow on the table, resting her head on her hand and looking off into the distance of Zakera. The multicolored neon pulsates placidly along the Ward. She smiles. "I _would_ be mad right now if you weren't eating like a kindergartener. So fucking funny"

"I'm glad I amuse you"

"Ha! Hmmm," Jack fidgets with her hands. "Yeah I get nightmares sometimes"

"About…Teltin?"

"Yes about Teltin! Fuck, what else would I have nightmares about!?" Jack looks around at the sudden silence of the restaurant; all heads are turned on her. "Argh, look I don't want to talk about this, so…whatever you have to say…just don't say it. I just got done with a long day, and I want to relax, in silence, and eat some curry. Can we do that? Please?"

"Jack…"

"I already said-"

"No, Jack, please let me talk." She takes a deep breath. "Just…okay? During the war," Miranda breathes, "during the war I met up with Shepard to…" she sighs, "okay, this is a little hard. *Ahem* I met up with Shepard to…apologize, for wanting to put a chip in her head when I was rebuilding her"

Jack waits.

"Before I met Shepard I kept pushing people away in some misguided attempt at being strong. But I'm really not. No one is. I get really insecure sometimes which is," she laughs self-depreciatingly, "_so_ far from the perfect ideal I'm supposed to embody. Look, what I'm trying to say is that I've been trying to change Jack, little by little every day. Which is why…which is why I want to apologize to you too"

"Oh no. _Please_ don't bring your drama this way"

But Miranda goes on. "I'm sorry Jack, for everything I said to you back on the Normandy, and for everything Cerberus did. It was obviously their fault the entire time; I was just too blinded by my loyalty to accept it. I'm sorry, and I really, really hope you can forgive me"

They look at each other for a few seconds, and for one of those seconds Miranda is convinced that Jack is about to hit her. But all she does is lean back in her chair, shake her head, take a deep breath, and begin to say something, before stopping herself and shaking her head again.

Jack pinches the bridge of her nose as if to ward off a headache. She's too tired to get angry at such a galling apology, or perhaps she sees too much of herself in the woman across the table, either way she shivers as a warm, unfamiliar sensation slithers up her spine.

"Miranda…" she says, a grudging grin tugging at her lips, "you suck at apologies"

Miranda smiles, "This is actually the first time you've called me by my name"

"Yeah well don't get used to it. You're still a bitch." A momentary silence. "Have you _seriously_ been worried about that all this time?"

"Well yeah"

"You really have changed"

"So have you"

Both of them shrivel back into their chairs in unusual shyness, galled at the realization that maybe friends is what they are.

* * *

Though the Grissom Facility is an Alliance program, it is still part of Citadel University, and as such its instructors are subject to mandated training by University Administration. In Jack's case, this means going to an exclusive meditation class on the Presidium.

It is a small class, hidden at the back of one of the Presidium's many over-decorated office buildings. For the most part the program is tailored to Asari, but other species are welcome. The cost is steep, and the work difficult, but it's worth it, improving the performance of even the most hard-pressed commando.

Jack, naturally, is the only human student. But she is not the only non-Asari.

"And now stretch your right legs back," says the instructor in a soothing voice, "and hold the pose…I want you to feel the clarity in your mind as your muscles work in unison to bring you to peak awareness"

Jack complies, as do the other students; twenty-some Asari, all assuming difficult Yoga-like positions.

"Argh, dammit." The Turian next to her struggles with the instruction, trying and failing not to wobble.

"Stop screwing around Kalle," whispers Jack, her expression perfectly serene, "you're ruining my concentration"

"How can you people move like this!?" he shoots back, flailing on one leg with his other leg lamely curled behind him.

"I've seen Turians be flexible before, stop being a pussy"

"Flexibility isn't everything! There's strength, agility, endurance, rea-"

"No talking please," says the instructor, materializing from nowhere. Kalle squawks, stumbling to the floor. For her part, Jack maintains a serene expression, closing her eyes and motivating every muscle in her face to keep from laughing. "Jack, your biotic field is wavering. Raise your palm up"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." The instructor moves behind her, delicately adjusting her posture and shifting Jack's wrist. It is a professional move, but Jack stiffens a little at the physical intimacy.

The instructor makes a little throaty laugh. "You're doing fine, Jack." She helps up Kalle, lifting him to his feet and getting him get into the proper position. He winces as she forcefully contorts his limbs into place. "There. This is how the bladed plumage pose should be done. Don't you feel more focused now?"

"I feel only pain"

She chuckles. "Fight through it"

Kalle grunts, his pose not nearly as elegant as it should be. His avian muscles quiver in discomfort and his biotic field sputters comically in the air. Jack can't help breaking a smile as she transitions into the next pose, taking pity on her friend as he groans, joints creaking into position. The session goes on like this for another thirty minutes until finally the instructor brings the day's exercises to a close.

Jack slowly brings her body into a relaxed stand, muscles burning and triumphant.

"Thank you everyone," says the instructor, making the customary bow, "that was very good. I'll see you the day after tomorrow"

Kalle slumps to the ground. "Owowowowow"

Jack offers him a hand. "Come on man, have some dignity"

"My body is broken…_urgh_, I have no dignity," nevertheless he accepts her hand, climbing shakily to his feet. "Improving my biotics isn't worth this"

"Come on big guy. Let's go get you a burrito"

He shakes his head. "Can't today. Boss has me doing overtime"

Jack laughs, "I hope you get paid well. When_ I_ was working for a spectre I didn't get shit"

"To put up with this? Jondam pays me way too little. Either way, it looks like you'll have to stick around anyway"

"What are you talking about?"

He points behind her to the instructor standing patiently two feet away, a patient smile on her face.

"Jack, may I have a word?"

"Uh, yeah, sure"

She waves goodbye to Kalle who exaggeratedly limps to the locker rooms where he will likely change bashfully behind a towel, holding it up in front of him while bunch of leering and un-self-conscious Asari snicker and giggle. She can sympathize; the first time she had to get changed in front of them she got a flood of questions about her tattoos.

"Your friend is making admirable progress in Athamic meditation"

"You should tell him that. Fucker won't stop whining about how painful it is"

The instructor laughs. "Perhaps I should. You too are making marked improvements. I remember when you first came to me," she shakes her head, "so impatient"

"Yeah…" Jack rubs the back of her head, "thanks for tolerating me. This stuff isn't exactly my thing"

"Well you've taken to it naturally." The instructor smiles, and as she does so Jack realizes that her soothing speech has been replaced by a markedly more normal one. "It's no trouble, Jack. It's my policy to be patient for my students, especially the ones with the most potential"

Jack cracks a grin, "And the pretty ones right?"

If she was expecting the instructor to be flustered then she is disappointed. The Asari slowly brings her palm to Jack's cheek. "_Especially_ the pretty ones"

Jack hesitates, at a loss for words, as people are wont to be when they are out-flirted. "Y-yeah, cool," which was the least cool thing she could think to say, "Um, what did you want to talk to me about again?"

The instructor smiles, a charming expression that might have been reassuring if it wasn't so implicitly predatory. "I _was_ going to flirt with you for a little while, maybe tell you how pretty you are," erratic butterflies flutter in Jack's stomach as the instructor draws a little closer, "and when you got a little receptive, I was going to ask you if wanted to go out with me sometime"

"S-seriously?"

The instructor holds her gaze, purple crest marks almost hypnotically bright against azure skin. "Are you surprised? You're a beautiful, mysterious woman, Jack. Half of the Asari here are interested in you. I hope I'm not coming on too strong but…I thought I would get ahead of crowd"

* * *

It is a pensive Jack that returns to the apartment that night, absentmindedly mumbling a response to Traynor's exuberant "Welcome home!" She slumps onto the couch, kicking off her shoes and raising her feet onto Traynor's lap. The data analyst raises her eyebrow, putting down her book slate and giving Jack her most questioning gaze. Jack, in turn, stares intently at her own feet.

"Is…there a reason why you have interrupted my reading with your smelly feet?"

"My feet aren't smelly"

"Riiiiiight." Jack keeps staring at her feet. "What's going on Jack?"

Jack reaches into her pocket and pulls out card, flicking in Traynor's direction. It lands on the swell of Traynor's bosom, and she shoots Jack a wry look before plucking it off and reading it.

"Shylene L'Droxis." She looks up, "Who is that?"

"My meditation teacher"

"And she's the whole reason you're so discombobulated?"

"She asked me out"

"Oh…oh wow. Your teacher asked you out? On a date? That's interesting"

"Yeah. Interesting"

"Is this a good thing? A bad thing? You're kind of hard to read right now"

"It's…I don't know," she looks over at Traynor, "You know that I don't really date people"

Traynor laughs, "It's not hard. Er, well it can be, if you let it. Let me start over: it's simple enough to figure out. Besides, if she's the one who asked you out then she's the one taking the lead. Just enjoy the ride"

"I guess"

Traynor takes stock of Jack's subdued voice; "You know if you aren't interested then you should just say no"

"No, it's not that"

"Then what?"

Jack looks up at Traynor, expression strained, pensive. Traynor isn't sure what she's thinking, which is strange as Jack has long been a heart-on-her-sleeve kind of person.

"Never mind, it's stupid." Jack swings her feet to the ground, relieving Traynor's lap. She looks at the card. "Ya know, maybe I'll try this out"

"Spectacular! Ooh, I've never seen you prepare for a date before. Let me know when you get to part where you have trouble finding an outfit. I absolutely _need_ to be there"

"…"

"What?"


	5. Not Knowing What You're Doing

"Is this absolutely necessary? Why does _she _need to be here?"

Jack glares back at the pair of women seated on her bed, both of them sitting attentively and grinning like maniacs. Jack is wearing a towel, arms crossed haughtily over her chest. It is an unusual look for her, and intrigued Miranda takes a mental picture. Jack's eyes narrow, training on the buxom beauty like she's something she's found on the bottom of her shoe.

Traynor, on the other hand, is all enthusiasm. "Come on, Miranda has a spectacular sense of style"

"And there's really no way I could have missed this, let's be real." Jack continues to glare, eliciting a sigh. "Please? Aren't we friends?"

Jack narrows her eyes even further, dangerously narrow slits of contempt, before wordlessly walking into the closet. It is a walk-in, though it isn't especially large, and certainly not as furnished as so much space might warrant. She looks around. Her wardrobe is…lacking to say the least; her clothes unfashionably utilitarian, or at least too weird by anyone else's standards. Shoes don't even factor into the equation; she only has two pairs, and both of them are boots.

Shrugging, she slips on the first thing she can think of.

Jack walks out of the closet, wearing her usual pants/ half-jacket/bandages ensemble. "This is pretty much the nicest thing I have, so…"

"Jack, you are not wearing that on a date. Don't you have anything else? Anything cute?"

"Fuck no"

"I thought that might be the case." Miranda holds up a sizeable shopping bag, giving Jack a cheerful smile that makes her skin crawl.

"Oh no. _Please_ don't tell me-"

"Yup," she unceremoniously unloads the bag's contents, smothering the bed in fabric like so much confetti. To Jack's horror they are all clothes. _Cute _clothes; professional blouses, flirty dresses, more than a few skirts, and one or two radically unique numbers that transcend description.

Traynor absolutely squeals in delight, rooting through them as reverently as her eagerness will allow. "Ooh! Ooh!" she holds up one particular little black number, vibrating with excitement at the prospect of playing dress-up with her roommate, "try this one!"

"No!" Jack blusters, recoiling from her roommate as if her enthusiasm were contagious. She doesn't spot Miranda rising and sneaking behind her until it's too late, squawking as her back presses against the taller woman's breasts.

Miranda turns her around, holding a top against Jack's torso. She leans back, scrutinizing it. "Put this on," she commands, tossing it into Jack's stupefied arms, and then adding a skirt and a pair of pants for good measure. "Try these on too. Do you have any strapless bras? Don't answer that, just take this one and go on"

"Are you serious?"

"When you're done you can try on shoes and jackets. Now shoo! Shoo!" Miranda ushers her back into the closet, closing the door both to prove a point and to give the Jack the privacy she knows Jack needs. Jack can hear Traynor giggling behind the door.

She huffs. How _dare_ she? Stupid cheerleader, buying her clothes and making her try them on for a stupid date that she doesn't even know why she's stupidly agreed to go on.

…Well, of _course_ she knows why she agreed. Watching the two women outside being all lovey-dovey for the last week has been making her skin crawl, inciting her to punch more than a few walls. She punches the one in front of her now. _Bang!_ Argh, knuckle pain.

More than anything, however, it makes her feel so very lonely.

As it usually happens these days, Jack's anger ebbs, giving way to resigned hopelessness. She sighs, feeling more than a little pathetic. Maybe she hasn't come as far as she thinks she has. Dammit. She holds out Miranda's top. Fashion isn't exactly her thing, but she supposes it doesn't look all that bad, though she hasn't the faintest clue how to actually put it on.

She strips to her underwear and tries maneuvering the garment onto her torso, failing miserably.

Why is it so goddamn complicated? Frustrated, she finally to shove it down over her head, getting her hair tangled in the string-laced back

A knock at the door. "What's taking so long in there?"

"Stupid thing is stupid!" she screams, flailing about with her arms and hair stuck, looking quite silly.

Miranda makes a long exasperated sigh. Traynor knows what she's going to do before she does it, half-heartedly trying to stop her, but backing down at her girlfriend's confident gait.

The closet door swings open, quickly admitting Miranda before closing again.

"What the hell!?"

"Settle down. I'm here to help you"

"Argh! I don't need any help!"

"Yes you do. Oh my god, you got your arms tangled in the lace, how is that even possible?"

"What the hell are you doing!?"

"Just hold still"

Jack demurs, gritting her teeth and standing still as Miranda negotiates her limbs out of the mess of fabric. They stand close, Miranda's breath grazing over her neck as she adjusts something in the back. Jack tries to concentrate on anything other than the careful ministrations. Distracting. The contact is more intimate than she would like.

Jack belatedly realizes she can't remember the last time she's had sex. Depression.

"Okay," she mutters, "I can put it on myself now"

"Now who's acting like a child? Put your arms up." Jack glares, Miranda stares, and ten seconds later Miranda is smiling, carefully pulling the top over Jack's torso. When she's done, her touch lingers at the hem. "You know I've never seen your tattoos this close before"

"Seriously? I used to wear a strap of leather instead of a shirt"

"Well I wasn't exactly receptive to your presence back then, was I? This design is very intricate…detailed." Her fingers run feather light against the exposed skin at Jack's waist. "It's beautiful"

"W-would you stop that?"

"Sorry, it's just very beautiful." Miranda watches, transfixed. "Prison ink right? I wouldn't have thought"

The scrutiny is unnerving. Jack moves away, clearing her throat. "You can leave now. I think I know how to put on pants"

Miranda snaps out of her reverie, looking up and cracking a shit-eating grin. "Aww, not the skirt? I'm sure you would look adorable"

"Get out!"

A smiling Miranda is shoved out of the closet.

Jack sighs, eyeing the skirt hung neatly on the door-peg. She reaches for it, fingers barely grazing against the fabric before she catches herself, cursing under her breath. No skirts for this bitch! She angrily pulls on the pants; another Miranda-picked number, tighter and less-comfortable than her usual pairs.

She slips out of the closet, a little more meekly than she means to, resisting the instinct to flinch as she feels the galling sensation of two sets of eyes rolling over her body.

Silence; it gnaws at her frayed confidence.

Finally: "Well!?"

Traynor jumps up clapping, "Jack you look gorgeous!"

"You think so?" Jack turns, eyeing her back over her shoulder, "What is this anyway?"

"It's an imitation corset. Not nearly as restrictive as the actual thing."

"It looks fantastic!" Traynor circles Jack, inspecting, fingers thoughtfully cupping her chin. "A little frilly, but somehow it really suits you"

Miranda nods proudly. "Of course it does. I picked it to highlight all of Jack's beauty; the skin, the face, the tattoos…"

The compliments are embarrassing. "Okay, I got it, fuck. Just…stop talking"

"Aww, are you blushing?"

Deadpan eyes glare into Miranda's mirthful ones. "I…am leaving"

"Wait!" calls Traynor as Jack walks purposefully out of the room, grabbing a random jacket from the pile, "there's still so much you haven't tried on yet!"

* * *

Of all the places Jack expected to have a date, she would not have expected a Tuckankan diner. Not that she has any objections; the illicit seediness of the establishment reminds her of the old days, and as much as she has changed since then some part of her will always be at home in the run-down and beaten-up locales of the galaxy.

Well, maybe this place isn't _that_ bad. It's clean at least, and the mostly Krogan clientele don't even bat an eye at a human in their diner. The cook even nods at her.

"You here for Shylene?"

"Yeah," she says, surprised.

"You're early," he points to a nearby booth, "just sit tight, she'll be here soon"

Jack quirks an eyebrow. "Thanks"

It's surprising that the booth should be open despite the relative fullness of the diner, but Jack doesn't question it. Just as she takes a seat, a Vorcha waiter asks her if she wants anything to drink. She orders a coffee, though as the waiter turns to leave she changes her mind and calls him back to order a milkshake.

It's a good decision. Time passes, and Jack ends up sipping the milkshake to half-capacity. She checks her email, eyes sporadically darting to the corner of her omnitool display at the time. Shylene is late. She starts to play some mindless casual videogames.

"Jack!" Without warning the Asari abruptly slides into the other side of the booth. Jack didn't even hear her come in. Shylene's clothes are nice, but a little disheveled. "Sorry, my dad called and I had to help him move some stuff and hence lateness…yeah. I'm really sorry"

"I wasn't waiting long"

Shylene vigorously sorts through her purse. She laughs, "Liar. You got here early"

"How do you know that?"

Shylene fishes out an inhaler and breathes in a puff, calming as she does so, breath evening. "Used to be a navy detective for the Asari Republics"

"Really? And now you teach meditation on the Presidium?"

The Asari flashes her a smile, "We can get through all that first date stuff after we order," and as if reacting on cue the waiter returns with a pair of menus. "I recommend the pyjak melt"

After they've ordered Jack struggles to come up with something to talk about. Shylene takes the initiative for her.

"You look beautiful today"

"O-oh. Thanks"

"I never see you in anything other than workout clothes, so this is a welcome sight"

"Yeah. I don't usually wear this kind of stuff… a friend made me wear it." Oh god what a silly thing to say. "I mean, um…" ugh, "I…I don't usually do this"

"Do what?"

"Date"

Shylene smiles. "There's nothing wrong with that. It's easy, really. Here let me show you." She props her chin on her hands, "So," dramatic pause, "what's your favorite color?"

Jack cracks up. "Seriously? That's so fuckin' corny

"I can't always be the mysterious meditation instructor," replies Shylene, patented teacher voice unfurling like silk. She immediately drops it, "c'mon, mine's green. You?"

"I don't know. Red I guess"

"You guess? What kind of person doesn't know what their favorite color is?"

"I never really thought about it before"

"Well we'll just have to fix that won't we?"

After fifteen minutes of nonsensical discussion about the merits of the color purple, Shylene, Jack finds, is actually pretty goofy. A weird, charming sort of goofy. Jack didn't even know she _liked_ goofy until now, but she does, which is strange but Jack doesn't question it. It's like Shylene knows just what ridiculous things to say to get Jack to come out of her shell.

But her mind wanders, the enjoyment of the date distracted by the dubious reasons she agreed to go on it in the first place.

"Jack? Earth to Jack?"

"Huh? What?"

"You spaced out there for a second"

"Sorry, I-"

"I'm boring you aren't I?" She delivers a lame little scream of dismay, pretending to slowly slink under the table. She stops just short of her eyes disappearing, eying Jack playfully. Jack snorts.

"No you goof. You're not boring me. I just have a lot on my mind right now"

"Ooh, serious stuff." She leans forward, steepling her hands like a therapist. "Tell me about it"

"It's…stupid"

"C'mon, pleeeaaaase?"

"I…" the urge to tell Shylene everything occurs to her; her feelings for Traynor, the ridiculous new friendship she has with Miranda, maybe even some of the stuff she went through before Shepard found her; it's all connected after all. To tell her just…anything of her crazy anxieties. But she doesn't, she cradles her head in her hands. "I'm sorry. I'm a…a pretty messed up person"

She feels the Asari slide next to her, displacing the balance of the booth cushion. A warm presence presses against her side. "Are you sure you're okay to date right now?" her voice is soft, understanding.

Jack sighs. "No"

"I know we don't know each other very well, but I like you so…do want to talk about it? Pressure's off, this isn't a date anymore"

"It's not?"

"No. This is two friends having some lunch over some fine Krogan cuisine"

Jack laughs, "Friends huh? I'd like that." She sighs again, mustering words. "I thought I was over this de-this kind of behavior but…I guess not. I'm surprised you aren't fucking like, distancing yourself now"

"Nah, s'alright. You're worth it." Acceptance. The immense pleasure it gives her makes Jack feel like a child, but whatever. "Besides," says Shylene, nudging her with her elbow, "we still haven't settled on what your favorite color is"

Jack shakes her head, smiling, glad that the stress of this particular interaction is alleviated. Time to change the subject.

"Why are you so tight with Krogan anyway?"


	6. Not Knowing What Other People Are Doing

Jack stumbles back into the apartment in a good mood, tipsy on beer and good times. She can't remember the last time she's felt this genuinely light-headed.

"You're back." Traynor is leaning on the kitchen island, ensconced in the fluffiest terrycloth robe money can buy. No skimpy silk nightgowns here. For Samantha Traynor, comfort is king.

"You waited up"

"Of course I waited up. I had to see how your date went. So? C'mon, fess up"

Jack looks around, craning her head to see past the pillar that blocks her view to Traynor's room. "Where's Miranda?"

"She left"

"She did? Why?"

"Miranda is…" Traynor carefully mulls over her next words, pursing her lips in displeasure, "…she's a very busy woman. She had to leave on some business matter not long after you took off"

"That's…" surprising, considering how much time Miranda has been spending around Jack lately. "Huh"

Traynor smiles, "So?"

"So what?"

Traynor rolls her eyes, "The date, silly. How was the date?"

Right, that. "It was actually pretty cool"

"Cool? What does that mean, cool? Good? Really good?"

"It was…" she can't say she had a miniature panic attack. She can't say that she couldn't get comfortable until Shylene took the pressure off the whole thing. She can't say that she displayed the emotional maturity of a pubescent middle-schooler.

"I had fun"

Traynor frowns, "What does that mean?"

"It means what it means okay? Stop fucking asking me about it!"

Silence. Awkward silence. Traynor deflates, crestfallen, and Jack takes one look at her troubled face before cursing her inability to have interactions like a normal person and stalks towards her room.

"Jack." The biotic slows to a stop, but doesn't turn, waiting. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to….are you okay? Did something happen?"

_It's happening right fucking now!_ But Jack doesn't say anything, just turns to give her roommate what she hopes is a reassuring smile (not a heartbroken one) before walking back into her room.

Well. So much for that good mood.

* * *

Jack has never been in love before. Sure, there have been confusing feelings of affection, sensibility-confounding hate, lust, drug-induced worship; but there has never been anything remotely resembling love. Well, there was one exception. The feeling she used to get when she watched the light slowly drain from a person's eyes as she killed them, watching the terror on their face as she crushed them alive with her mind; _that_, for the longest time, was a kind of love.

But Shepard had changed all that. Somehow. Jack isn't even really sure how it happened. One day she was in the deepest cryo-induced fever dream that Purgatory could buy, and the next she was flying through space getting morals covertly slipped into her psyche by a woman who embodied the word "paragon." After that she somehow got a job teaching kids, and ever since then killing had lost some of its flavor.

Not all of it of course. Jack still derives some satisfaction from killing, but at least she now has the decency to feel somewhat bad about it.

And somehow things just…fell into place. Normal life. It was…nice.

No, she would never truly reintegrate into society. She was much too broken to relate to most people. A person can't just cast off the burden of a nightmarish childhood. But she has found some modicum of a normal life: she has a lovely roommate, a few very close friends, a stable job, and sometimes she is even conscripted for babysitting duties (much to her own surprise and delight).

But sadly, part of living normal life is dealing with normal heartbreak.

Samantha Traynor became her roommate under regular circumstances. Jack had an expensive place, and though she could easily afford to keep it on her own, she had taken a friend's advice and decided to stave off loneliness by tentatively opening it up for cohabitation. She never would have handled the particulars herself (she barely has the patience to deal with the paperwork at her job), but she knew a reliable information broker who compiled a short list of likely roommate candidates.

Enter Samantha Traynor. The woman had been easy to get along with from the get go, and had passed Jack's rigorous screening process with, if not flying colors, then at least frivolously dichromatic ones (which was more than could be said of the other applicants). Friendship hadn't been easy at first, but Traynor was personable at least. She wasn't uncomfortable in Jack's presence, and took most of what she said with a smile and a grain of salt. That didn't mean that they were buddies. Not at all. They didn't talk much, and they didn't really spend all that much time with each other (content to do their own thing in their separate rooms). But they at least smiled to each other around the house, and a smile, for Jack, wasn't an easily bestowed gift.

Jack didn't know what Traynor did for a living. Something to do with advanced data analysis. Needless to say, they didn't often see each other outside of the apartment. This all changed until one night, when Jack was occasioning a lesbian club for that month's particular flavor of casual sex, that they ran into each other.

It was an awkward encounter. Jack was confident in her ability to pick up women (pick up anyone really), singling out one girl almost straight away: a pretty little thing in enough makeup to moonlight as an Egyptian princess. She could guess the type. A girl isn't likely to go to a club like that, wearing what she was wearing, looking like she was looking, without wanting _something _out of it by the end of the night.

She might have been there with someone, but Jack went for it anyway.

"Hey," she said, not one for pick-up lines, but able to fill lone syllables with confidence and swagger.

The girl was surprised, but pleased. She smiled at her, coyly of course. The prettiest ones always played coy.

"Wanna dance?"

And they danced. Oh how they danced. And it wasn't until Jack started to get a little frisky that the girl had stopped her, looked at her, smiled, and said:

"You don't recognize me do you?"

That accent. That voice. Jack stopped dancing, straining her eyes through the pulsing lights to recognize the girls' features. Those eyes, those lips. Jack could have slapped herself. It was Traynor, and instead of feeling embarrassed Jack had laughed at her own stupidity. It was so obvious.

Neither of them got laid that night, but the ice was broken. They adjourned to some waffle house not far from where they lived, trading the strobe and beat of the club for the calm luminescence of a neighborhood diner. They talked, really talked, for the first time. Words flowed like syrup over a waffle, (and Traynor likes her waffles positively _inundated_ in syrup). Friendship was solidified before the check even arrived.

Never before had Jack connected with someone so suddenly, or so easily. It was scary and exciting and it felt really, really good. Over the next year what was initially a faint fluttering in her stomach turned into a full-blown rabble of butterflies, and Jack found herself falling in love for the first time.

That had freaked her out.

It had scared her, filled her with that paralyzing terror of first love that both excites and suffocates. The kind you never feel brave enough to express; that crush that is only ever realized in dreams, and never in real life.

But whatever. Life's a fucking drag. To Jack, this is no surprise. Move on.

Move on, move on.

Getting over someone is never easy, but it helps when you know that you actually have to get over them. Of course this is difficult when you lives with them, and even harder when the person she's going out with is somehow becoming her friend.

* * *

"I was under the impression that you were a busy person"

"Yes, well. I'm also ludicrously rich so I can afford not to micromanage"

Jack looks doubtful, but Miranda isn't looking at her, grinning at the classroom arrayed before them. The students exchange confused glances at the late addition to the lesson plan.

"Right. Anyway!" Jack addresses the class, "We're having a pop quiz today, kinda." The students look confused, Jack _never_ has pop quizzes. "This is Miranda Lawson. She's the CEO of…what was it again?"

"Alkahest Industries"

"Jesus that's a dumb name. To the humans and Turians in the room, if you were born in the last twenty years then you probably have one of Miranda's amps." Jack slowly walks around her table. "Today we'll be applying that what you've been learning in your theory class." The students take a collective breath. Biotic Theory 417 is laden with exciting ideas that they never seem to apply in real life. Jack allows herself a smile. "That's right. We're learning how to Charge"

Some of her students whoop in excitement, while the rest just sort of vibrate in their seat (some giddy, some terrified). The biotic charge is the coolest move available in any Vanguard's arsenal, and naturally the one thing most biotic students ache to be able to do.

A few minutes later Miranda is questioning her decision to come in today. Her barriers are up in a bright blue aura surrounding her body. "This isn't what I had in mind, Jack!"

"Relax! You'll be fine!"

"Jack! This is insane!"

Jack ignores her. The students watch, transfixed, from the sidelines.

"Alright kids, what you want to keep in mind when charging is that you have to cushion yourself from impact. If you don't, well, you could die, which is why you're wearing the padded suits today. The trick is to cushion yourself without cushioning your opponent"

"Jack why aren't you just using the targets!?"screams Miranda, not happy to be used as a target, but unwilling to give Jack the satisfaction of seeing her walk away (she isn't a _chicken_ after all).

"Because a live target is always better!"

"This isn't safe!"

"Too late! This is happening!"

"Dammit!"

Jack raises her arms, taking a sudden lunge forward. Blue sparks dance and expand across the air in front of her, ballooning to crazy proportions. And in a blur of motion Jack is gone, careening across the room and straight against Miranda's barrier. The two biotic fields slam together in a miniature explosion. Jack grins with the aggressive transfer of energy, tons of force smashing against Miranda's barriers.

The barriers hold, but barely, flickering as Miranda struggles to sustain the intensity of Jack's attack. She grins. Super biotic Jack might be, but Miranda is no slouch. Jack cushions herself from the impact perfectly, coming close enough for Miranda to surprise her by stepping forward at just her right moment and grabbing her by the waist. The instructor "eeps!" in surprise, bracing herself as Miranda folds her arms around her, pulling her into a hug.

With the exception of Miranda (who is smiling smugly), it is an awkward moment for everyone involved. The students shuffle in discomfort; they have never heard their teacher utter such a feminine noise. Jack herself blinks a few times before she shoves the other biotic away.

"Right! That's how it's done! Form up teams of five and take turns on the targets! Well!? What the fuck are you waiting around for!? Get going!"

The students jump to comply, sending worried glances in the direction of the two women even as they form up in neat lines and try to copy their teacher. The most eager students are already off, slamming into kinetic retardant barriers wide of the actual target. They flop to the ground like penguins, laughing and already ready to try again. Charging is _fun_.

Jack shakes her head at them. "Don't overdo it! None of you wants a headache!" She sighs, composing herself.

She doesn't look at Miranda as the other woman saunters to her side. She doesn't get angry like she might have before. She brought that embarrassment on herself after all. She can concede that. But there's no way in hell she's giving Miranda the benefit of seeing her embarrassed.

"Not bad Lawson"

"Seems to me you underestimated me there-"

"Maybe"

"-Just a little-"

"Okay"

"-Just a teensy, weensy bit"

"Alright! Shut up! Supervise the kids while I settle something really quick" They both laugh and Jack punches Miranda's shoulder. It has become an almost affectionate move.

Miranda chuckles at the odd sight of Jack self-consciously skittering away. Really, if she knew it was this fun to tease Jack all those years ago, well… then one of them would probably be dead by now. Not that Miranda was the kind of person to tease people like that back then. Or have friends for that matter.

She smiles at the practicing students, marveling at the niche that Jack has carved out of this post-war society. The kids do alright without Jack's supervision. Teaching comes easy to her, about as easily as anything comes to Miranda (which is very), and she enjoys showing struggling students the proper forms. Young men and women suddenly go starry-eyed and dry-throated as she doles out individual advice; it isn't hard to develop a crush on Miranda Lawson after all. However it does get a bit ridiculous when some of the students seem to be messing up on purpose, but they're immediately called out on it when Jack comes tromping back.

"You coach a good class"

"Why do you look surprised? I teach professionally"

"Not surprised. Just…okay, yes, surprised"

That earns her another punch to the shoulder. "Bitch." Miranda laughs.

At the end of class the students trail out of the room, sweaty and exhausted. With the exception of the odd Asari, they are chowing down on nutrient bars and energy shakes, per Jack's instructions. Biotics need to get all that energy from somewhere after all.

"So listen," starts Miranda, after most of the students are gone, "want to check out that Krogan diner in Zakera? I hear they make good steak, and a little bird told me that you like steak"

Jack hesitates. Refusal is awkward. It shouldn't be, but it is. "Not today, I'm meeting a…friend"

Jack wishes Miranda didn't look so surprised. "A friend?"

"Yes, is that so hard to believe?"

"How come I've never heard of this friend before?"

"I have friends besides you, okay!?"

"Sorry, I just…"

Jack wants to apologize too, but she can't. Five seconds pass and just like that it's too awkward to say sorry. "See ya," she says, injecting false cheer into the pronunciation. She waves a little, grasps Miranda's shoulder, and shuffles out.

"What just happened?"

* * *

"You know in my five centuries of life I have never been friend-zoned so quickly"

"…"

"It's remarkable actually. You're like the first one. You should be honored"

"…"

A sigh, "Please stop making that face. That's your "I don't want to be a bother face." You aren't a bother, and I like spending time with you. I mean, yes, this is different for me, but a good kind of different you know? Like a when you decide to use a different coolant cream on you tentacles and voila! It actually works even better than your regular brand. Er, not that you would know anything about that. What was I saying again?"

"…"

"Seriously Jack, you have to stop doubting yourself. It makes me really worried for you, you know?"

"Sorry"

"And stop apologizing so much. It makes me feel like I'm being mean to you." Shylene pauses as her character on screen dies a horrible fiery death. She had crashed into a thresher maw. She lowers her controller. "Are you okay? You've barely said anything the entire time we've been here"

"It's nothing"

"It's not nothing. C'mon, you can talk to me"

"…"

"Would it help if I shared something first?" She breathes in, as if mustering the courage to say something earth-shattering, "I have thing for people with tattoos. There I said it." She exhales dramatically. "Wow, you have no idea how hard it was for me to admit that." Jack swats her thigh. "Ow!" Shylene laughs in that weird way people do when they're in pain and somehow amused by it. "I only bring it up because it seems to me that you want to tell me something but are too touchy to bring it up"

Jack sticks her tongue out the side of her mouth, focusing on the screen until finally her character flies past the finish line in first place. "YES!" She jumps to her feet and throws one fist in the air, victorious. When the 2ND PLAYER WINS fades away from the screen she slumps back onto the couch. "What are we talking about again?"

"You weren't even listening to me!?"

Jack rolls her eyes, "I totally was. Just remind me"

Shylene narrows her eyes, suspicious. "Your issues"

"Ugggghhh! I'm tired of talking about my damned issues. Can't we just play another game or something"

"Oh come on! You're positively brimming with issues and we've barely scratched the surface!"

"Shylene, this may sound cliché but I have a very colorful fucking past that no-one wants to hear about"

"But I want to hear about it! It'll make us so much closer!"

"I think I might have liked you better when you were an irritatingly calm Svengali"

"What's a Svengali?"

Jack sighs. "Look do you really want to talk about this shit? It'll take forever and it's kind of intense"

"Of course!" Shylene grins, pulling Jack to her feet. "I'm going to get the drinks!"

Jack follows, secretly relieved at the prospect of being able to talk about all the shit she has on her mind. Everyone needs to talk about their worries and insecurities to someone after all. Her only regret is that Shylene has no idea what she's in for.

* * *

Across town, a similar meeting is taking place.

"Not that I'm not delighted to see you Oriana, but why were you in my house again?"

"Haven't seen you in a while. I decided to let myself in"

Oriana barging into her house at all hours isn't unusual, and sometimes a little annoying. But Miranda loves it.

Both sisters are sitting on Miranda's bed, the window right next to it left open to the sunny presidium "sky." Miranda sits behind Oriana, braiding her hair in an intricate pattern that would boggle the minds of most hairdressers. This kind of interaction is typical for them: Miranda loves to spoil Oriana (indeed, having done so for the girl's entire life, even before she was aware of her) and Oriana loves to be spoiled. There's something special about being the only person in the galaxy that Miranda ever treats with such tenderness.

It plays hell with Oriana's dating standards.

"Sooooo…how are things going with Samantha?"

A sigh, "Did you just come here to gossip?"

"I'm curious. You don't tell me anything unless I ask"

Another, deeper sigh. "Things are going well"

"What was that sigh? Why are you sighing?"

"No reason Hold still, I'm almost done"

"Miriiiii, c'on tell me"

"When were we suddenly and without warning transported into middle school?"

"Since now"

"I don't remember raising you to be this childish"

"You didn't raise me at all!"

They both know that's not quite true, but the joke is a familiar one, and they both laugh.

"Everything is fine with Samantha," reports Miranda, much too self-conscious to reveal the true intricacies of her relationship, especially not when she isn't certain what those intricacies might entail. Dating women, she has long found, is as tiring and complicated as dating men. Besides, what kind of example is she setting is she admits the casual nature of her relationship?

Still, it's nice that in the middle of a hectic work schedule, she can find the time for the little things; braiding her sister's hair, catching up on historical dramas, teaching a class with Jack. Really it's in these moments that she starts feeling the most normal, more like Miranda the person and not Miranda the fire-breathing CEO, the Cerberus loyalist, the artificial human.

But those are thoughts for another time. Right now, someone's hair needs braiding.

"There, all done"

Oriana turns, beaming. "Thanks!" Her expression softens. "I know you better than you think I do," she says, "are you sure everything's alright?"

"Just complicated Oriana, don't you worry yourself about any of that just yet." For good measure she pats her on the head.

"Hey! Don't treat me like a kid! Grrr!" She tackles Miranda, seeking out ticklish spots that no-one else in the galaxy knows about.

To Miranda, Oriana will always be a kid. Her precious little sister. That doesn't means he doesn't get a kick out of levitating her into the middle of the room and watching her squawk indignantly and squirm.

* * *

"So that's…pretty much everything. Every. Fucking. Thing"

Shylene is bad at hiding her emotions when tipsy. "Shit"

"Yeah"

She looks out her window at the expanse of the citadel. "I kind of regret pushing you to tell me all that"

Jack keeps her gaze front and center. She can't look into Shylene's eyes after spilling her guts so completely, maintaining a disaffected mien. "Well sorry I had a shitty life"

"No, I- sorry. Thank you so much for….trusting me with all of that. Really"

"Don't sweat it. It's all in my Alliance file anyway"

"Jack I'm serious. Thank you." Jack hazards a glance into Shylene's sincere green eyes. "Thank you Jack"

It's such a touching gesture that a tear almost spills out of her eye. Almost. She chuckles. "Thanks for listening I guess"

It was cathartic really, like a muscle that has been long flexed into a tight little knot, suddenly alleviated. Like emotional massage. Who knew?

Shylene drives her home, setting the car on autopilot because they've both had a few drinks too many. Still, when they arrive Jack isn't drunk enough to ask Shylene to come upstairs with her, nor is Shylene tipsy enough to insinuate as much. Jack has learned, in recent years, to hold onto the friendships that count. It helps when you don't sleep with them.

But she is still drunk, and as she stumbles into the apartment, giggling and smiling, she is utterly unprepared for the sight of Samantha Traynor kissing a woman who is very decidedly not Miranda.

"What the fuck!?"

"Jack?"

The woman recoils, "You told me you were single!"

"I _am_ single"

"What's going on?!"

"This is- oh dear, I never explained to you what 'exclusive' meant, did I?"

"What!?"

"Samantha, is everything alright?"

"Nothing, um. Maybe you should go home for now, Valerie"

"You'll call me?"

"Yes I'll call you"

Ten minutes later Jack and Traynor are sitting on their couch, drinking a pair of hastily-poured gin and tonics. It had taken some doing, but Traynor had eventually managed to get Jack to calm down. Then she had had to explain a few things.

"So you're saying that you aren't cheating?"

"Right"

"How the fuck does that even work?"

Traynor sighs, "It's…look. While you're dating someone you aren't limited to just them. Not until things start getting serious. That's when you become exclusive"

"As in exclusively dating one another?"

"Yes"

"Huh," you learn something new every day. "And you and Miranda aren't exclusive?"

"No"

"She knows about this?"

"Of course! I would never cheat on her if we were in a serious relationship!"

Jack narrows her eyes, as if squinting will help her make heads or tails of this whole situation. She still can't quite see it. The world made so much more sense when "relationships" didn't mean much more than "fucking."

Trynor moves closer and places her hand on Jack's shoulder. She smiles. "You're sweet you know. Like a chivalrous knight"

"What?"

"When you saw me. You thought I was betraying your friend and you reacted. It's sweet"

Is that what she was thinking? It had happened so abruptly, Jack isn't sure what she was thinking. Not rationally anyway, she does remember thoughts of Miranda randomly shooting up in her head like fireworks in the distance.

_Huh, maybe I am sweet._

"So wait, Miranda could totally be out there fucking other people and you would be okay with that?"

"Well when you put it like that then no, not entirely. But I don't want to engage in a serious relationship with her just yet, so I can't exactly expect her to sit on her hands for me. She could even be seriously wooing someone and I would be okay with that"

Jack snorts. "Miranda wooing someone? Somehow I can't quite see it"

Traynor looks thoughtful. "I don't know. Miranda puts on a tough front but she's really quite sweet don't you think? Can't you see her trying her best to spend time with someone she likes, perhaps a tad awkwardly, showing up at unexpected places?"

Jack chuckles. She can see _that_ at least. Like when Miranda shows up at the university after work.

"Taking the time to learn about what that person likes…"

Well, that too. _A little bird told me you love steak._

"Doing them little favors for seemingly no reason at all…"

Like buying Jack clothes for the date with Shylene.

"Maybe being a little sneaky and engaging in intimate physical contact that she can write off as a joke…"

Like earlier today when she hugged Jack after the biotic charge.

All of a sudden, Jack feels numb.

"Don't you see Miranda doing things like that? Jack? Jack, are you listening to me?"


	7. Making Things Clear

Miranda Lawson makes a habit of attending boardroom meetings with a pair of Vorcha at either side of her. They are excellent bodyguards, and have the magnificent effect of both deterring unwanted advances as being generally unsettling during meetings.

Her board members have long grown used to them, but government liaisons and representatives from rival companies are always put off-guard. Though lacking in communication skills, Shriven and Bith are shrewd, and know how to use their appearance to full effect. They could be businesspeople if they were so inclined.

As it is, they are more than content to represent and protect Miranda's interests. They do so now, flanking either side of Miranda's impressive mahogany desk, staring unblinkingly at the negotiation representative sent from Elkoss Combine. For her part, Miranda further compounds the intimidating effect by grinding together two metal balls in her hand, squeezing hard enough to produce an audible, grating sound.

The symbolism is not lost on the Turian businessman across from her. He came with his own pair of bodyguards, another Turian and a Drell; they both fight to not smile at the blatantly emasculating tactic.

"When I called you saying we needed to revisit our contracts," says the Turian businessman, "I didn't think you would go so far to make me uncomfortable"

"Have I made you uncomfortable Joram?" She asks this with convincing sincerity, using his first name to establish familiarity. "If so, then I do apologize." The grinding of the metal balls is like nails on a chalkboard.

"Could you stop that, please?" he demands.

"Oh this? I wish I could but I had a ligament tear in several of my fingers. This exercise was prescribed by my doctor to further the healing process"

Its total bullshit and they both know it, but Joram isn't about to risk losing face by insisting she stop. It would be childish, and the last thing an enterprising networker wants to look like is childish.

"Oh, of course. I'm sorry"

"It's no problem. Now, as you were saying…"

Grind, grind, grind.

"*Ahem* Uh, yes…where was I?"

Grind, grind, grind.

"The, uh, contracts. Yes. About those"

Grind.

"Uh…"

GRIND.

Miranda smiles. From the size of her desk, to the presence of Shriven and Bith, to the low stature of the Turian's chair, everything about this meeting was set up to make him as uncomfortable as possible and thus as conciliatory as possible.

"Look," she says before he can speak, "let me make this easy for you. I have no doubt your superiors sent you here to wriggle out a new deal that works out better for them. Perhaps something to do with reduced microcost overages?" His mandibles twitch in surprise. "Well they knew they wouldn't get that deal or else they would have sent someone with a bit more, ah…pull. Not some kid who just made partner, no offense"

Someone clears their throat.

"So here's what we'll do," she presses a few buttons on her omnitool, "Bith here will send the renewed contract to your people. Feel free to read them over but there's really nothing Elkoss Combine can do to change them. Unless they think they can find a better supplier…"

"No. No, that won't be necessary," he shakes his head, chuckles, "I see I still have a lot to learn"

Kid knows how to back down, Miranda can respect that. Even if he feels resentment, he knows to hold his tongue and put on a smile. He'll go far. And if he really has learned something…well, then all the better. Either way she'll be keeping an eye on his career.

When he's gone, and his bodyguards with him (though in Miranda's social circles they are always called "aides." Armed aides to be sure, but calling them "bodyguards" is considered ostentatious), Miranda is left alone in her office with Bith and Shriven.

"Bith, I'll let you get on compiling those documents. Shriven, do I have any more appointments for today?"

"Appointments from now until night-time." His voice is hoarse enough to scare small children.

She sighs, "Cancel all of them. Or better yet, get someone else to handle them. Or handle them yourself"

"Right away"

"Thank you Shriven." She twirls the metal balls in her hand before floating them with biotics, orbiting each around the other above her palm in thoughtful silence. "Isn't it about time Jack's class finishes?"

Shriven casts an amused look to Bith, who nods. "Yes, Miranda"

"Good, get the car ready. Both of you are in charge while I'm gone"

Bith grins in horrific, toothy splendor. "Of course"

Shriven opens the door for Miranda, who stops suddenly, thoughtful. "Where do you think Jack would like to eat today?"

The answer is instantaneous. "Asari junk food place on Silversun Strip. Can secure table now"

"Excellent, good work you two"

* * *

But Jack isn't at school. She isn't even outside her apartment. Instead she fights ennui by playing video games, too languorous even to go to the Armax Arena like she usually does in these pensive moods. The game is set to easy, a setting that anyone could win if they repeatedly smashed their head against the controller. It makes for good mind-numbing activity.

Unfortunately for her, her mind is far from inert. Thousands of thoughts run through her head, all revolving around the topic of Miranda Lawson.

Some part of her is convinced that the woman is trying to get in her pants. Another part is saying that she's reading too much into this; there's no way Miranda would be interested like that. A third part shifts allegiance between the two, rationalizing either argument again and again and again until both feel equally likely and unlikely.

And then there are the parts of her that wonder about how _she_ feels about all this; discomfort at being found desirable by a former enemy, fear of losing this budding friendship, flattery at being an object of desire, hesitation at considering a mutual attraction, fear again that she is misunderstanding everything.

And to top it all off, apparently her roommate is some kind of playgirl? Traynor protests that she's just weirdly lucky this month to have gotten even one date, much less two. But Jack is suspicious.

But as much as she runs through the same mental acrobatics, she always arrives at the same conclusion: a complete and utter lack of an idea of what to do.

So she calls in sick, plops herself in front of the TV, and runs video games. She orders delivery around lunchtime, glaring at the delivery guy when he clears his throat for a tip. He gets his tip; Jack pressing the credit chit into his palm with painful intensity. She might feel bad about that if she weren't so focused on other things.

Second guessing comes natural to Jack, and insecurity flows forth organically. If only Miranda gave her some kind of sign, then she could be sure.

But just as the character on screen finally succumbs to too many grenades to the face (wasn't really paying attention), Jack knows that real life isn't all that convenient.

The doorbell rings.

* * *

"She's not here today?"

"No Ms. Lawson, she called in sick. We had a substitute. If you want I can-"

"No, that's quite alright. Thank you…" she searches for a name but doesn't find one, "*ahem* thank you"

"No problem"

The student runs off, hiding a bashful smile. Apparently Jack's class had become quite enamored with her ever since she assisted on the charging lesson. It's flattering in a sweet way, though slightly creepy in that there are already pictures of her that day on social media pages.

Miranda wonders if she should stop by the apartment. Would that be weird? Things with Sam had fizzled out somewhat, not necessarily badly, but more in the way two people simply acknowledge that one of them isn't really 100% dedicated to the relationship. In this case, they are both that person. Miranda is pretty sure she's seeing other people at the same time. So if Miranda were to show up unannounced, it probably wouldn't be awkward…right?

Five minutes later further and introspection is a moot point. Miranda stands in front of the apartment door, somewhat nervous but managing to maintain a veneer of professional disaffection. Wait, that isn't right. This isn't a board meeting, it's a social call. Right. You don't necessarily have to put on a mask for these.

Not for Jack anyway.

Miranda doesn't falter as she reaches to push the doorbell. A few seconds pass and she feels awkward. Maybe...she isn't home. Maybe neither of them is home. Maybe the bag of gourmet takeout soup will go to waste. Miranda would feel weird if she ended up having to eat it.

But the door opens and her train of thought thoroughly derails.

The thing with space station doors is they can't be opened only slightly, allowing visitors only a small sliver of what the interior beyond is like. They open all the way every time, and Miranda gets the impression that Jack had forgotten this.

The teacher isn't wearing her customary makeup, or her iconic alternative clothing. Her hair isn't even done up, flopping over one side of her head like a droopy Mohawk. She's wrapped up in a blanket, wearing pale gray sweat bottoms and likely a T-shirt above that. She looks entirely off-guard, and the look of surprise on her face is priceless.

Miranda smiles and bashfully holds up the paper bag. "I brought soup," she says, somehow managing to sound hopeful and apologetic at the same time.

Jack says nothing, holding her bewildered expression. Perhaps she is sicker than Miranda anticipated, as she wordlessly steps out of Miranda's way to let her into the apartment.

"I swung by the college but they said you were sick." Miranda hopes that doesn't sound too stalker-y. "So I brought you, uh, soup. Wow, It is dark in here"

"Yeah, I…sensitive eyes I guess"

"Are you alright? I was worried"

"No, yeah. I just got a lot on my mind is all. Needed to take a break." She eyes the paper bag, smiling weakly. "So…you brought me soup"

Miranda returns the smile, extracting a Styrofoam takeout bowl from the bag and passing it to Jack. "Thai chicken-coconut. Careful, it's hot"

"Is this from that place on Shalta?"

"Yeah, I remembered you said you wanted to go there"

"That's…" sweet, "thanks. I appreciate it"

"You can have it now if you like"

"Sure, I haven't eaten much today anyway"

"What exactly have you been doing?" Miranda asks as Jack sets the bowl down on the kitchen table. She pours herself a glass of water and opts to use one of her own spoons rather than the plastic one provided by the restaurant. Sitting at the table is weird, as she rarely uses it to actually eat on.

Miranda inspects the couches facing the TV, wrinkling her nose at the mess of blankets and pillows where Jack had obviously been stationing herself. A half-finished sandwich and a game controller lets her know everything she needs to know about Jack's recent activities. She shakes her head.

"Where's Sam?" she asks, making her way back to the kitchen.

"Work"

"So you've just been here. Alone"

Jack raises an eyebrow, "Well yeah, I'm not a child. I don't need anybody taking care of me"

"But you're sick"

"This isn't the first time I've had to nurse myself alone," she takes a spoonful of soup, "hey this is good. We should go there someti-" Before she can take another bite Miranda takes the bowl away from her. "Hey!"

"You are unwell and you haven't been resting"

"So?"

"Bed. Now"

"Huh?"

"You heard me. Get to bed. Honestly Jack, pigging out on the couch is no way to treat an illness"

"What the hell!? But…but what about my soup?"

"Quit fussing. I'll bring it to you in a minute. Now get in bed"

"Huh!?"

A moment later, Jack is lying underneath the tangled sheets of her bed, wondering if she should just tell Miranda that she isn't actually sick. But then the other woman walks in with a tray; the soup poured into a proper bowl alongside a cup of cold tea, a peeled orange, and some water. Before she sets the tray down she attends to Jack's covers, actually tucking in the sheets so they're tight over her body.

"Lean forward"

Jack obeys, silent as Miranda reaches behind her to set up a back support out of pillows. Her face is distractingly close.

"There you are Ms. Badass Biotic, all tucked in"

"Har, har. Gimme my soup"

"Yes ma'am," her tone is mocking, but she obliges, pulling out the tray supports and laying it over Jack's thighs. She stands back at a respectful distance, a cursory glance of the room clues her in to a crumpled sheet underneath the desk. Had she been sleeping under there? Worrying.

"Okay," comes Jack's voice, bringing Miranda out of her reverie, "I can't eat if you're just going to stand there like a creep." Miranda sighs, parking her but at the edge of the bed. "Okay that just looks uncomfortable. Here," she pats the space on the bed next to her, "take a load off"

Miranda raises an eyebrow before wordlessly kicking off her shoes. The well-dressed, typically composed woman makes a hilarious sight as she reluctantly negotiates the soft surface of the bed on all fours, crawling over Jack's legs and settling awkwardly next to her over the covers. She spends a moment slowly settling her back against the headboard before shifting her legs in a more comfortable position.

"There, that ought to do it"

"You want a pillow?"

"Yes actually, thank you"

Jack chuckles as she removes one from her back support and hands it over. "Thanks for doing all…this, by the way. It was nice of you. A little weird, but nice"

Miranda finds herself unconsciously averting her eyes. "Yes, well," _I care about you_, "I couldn't just leave you here to rot in front of the TV"

Jack laughs, not rising to the bait. "Hey don't ruin it; I'm paying you a compliment here"

Miranda forgets to respond, forgets to look away. They look into each other's eyes and realize that maybe they're sitting a little too close, but neither of them looks away.

Finally: "What is it?" laughs Jack, somewhat self-conscious, "Something on my face again?"

"No, just reflecting on how weird this might look to our past selves"

"Yeah, but I was an idiot and you were a bitch so fuck' em"

"Are you saying I'm not a bitch anymore?"

"Nah, you still are, but kind of in a good way you know?"

"I don't, but then again we're very different people, you and me"

Jack says nothing.

"Not that that's a bad thing. The world would be much duller without someone like you around"

"Aww, that your way of trying to say you like me?"

Miranda shoots her an uncharacteristically cocky grin. 'Didn't we cover this before? I like you Jack. I like you a lot in fact"

_And there_, thinks Jack, _is my sign._

* * *

Author's note: I only just played the Citadel, so I realize some of what I wrote is alternative to cannon, mainly the whole Jack and Miranda not knowing Traynor before, well, now. They totally got to know each other (sorta) at the party and it was hilarious (that DLC gave me both happy and sad feel, I mean this is it for Shepard's story! Waaaaa~!).

Anyway, just acknowledging that. Also, speaking of Traynor, more from her point of view in the next chapter. Probably.


	8. What Sam has been up to

Samantha Traynor isn't the most raucous individual; some might even go so far as to call her anti-social. She certainly fits the bill: her college experience wasn't exactly hair-raising, she had more allergies than most people are willing to put up with, is just slightly socially awkward, and given a choice between going to a club and staying in to play board games, well, she would choose board games every time.

But these attributes do not mean she is not fun-loving. In fact she loves to dance, and pours so much emotion into her relationships that the friends she does make are life-long, practically family. Still, none of this stops Samantha Traynor from having her fair share of doubts about herself. We all have them: am I not outgoing enough? Why don't I have a girlfriend yet? Am I living up to everyone's expectations of me?

Am I happy? Truly happy?

Most days, the answer to this question is yes. But it doesn't stop her from wondering what more she could be doing in life; what extra effort does Samantha Traynor need to put in to be the happiest version of herself she can be?

She does not discuss this sort of thing with Jack. That girl has enough personal issues without Sam muddling it all up with her own hang-ups. For a very long time it is this very fact that keeps Samantha content. In taking care of Jack, she has someone who needs her, someone that is happy to greet her at the door (if the teacher's schedule is permitting), and really that feeling of being _needed_ is more powerful than you can imagine.

Sam has even entertained thoughts of escalating that particular relationship. But, as in her love life, fear of ruining things has kept her from making a move. Ha! And Jack asks her why she hasn't found a girlfriend yet!

It gets to the point that one day, as she and Jack are spending a Saturday night people-watching at a local bar, she decides "screw it, I'm going to hit on the first gorgeous woman I see, no matter how intimidated I am!"

At the sight of Miranda Lawson, she is very intimidated.

Now Samantha Traynor is hardly what anyone would call a smooth talker. She had never had the guts to approach a stranger and ask to buy them a drink, much less engage them in conversation. That was for people with significantly larger metaphorical balls. Fortunately, alcohol grants her such balls. She makes her move.

A week later and she's off to a promising relationship. She's on cloud nine.

The confidence high gets even higher when, hardly two days later, a very attractive sports-player hits on her in line to the coffee shop. A woman of course, with curly red hair and a riding jacket that puts Traynor in mind of those rigid riding crops, perfect for _whipping_. That was Trudy, and before she left the shop she left Traynor with a business card, on the back of which was scrawled few digits and the words CALL ME.

At work, on the very same day, she is called in to collaborate for a one-day intensive project with an Asari delegate from the Terminus systems. They spend almost the entire day mulling over data and logistics that would explode lesser minds', but in the end they emerge triumphant, and in so doing they look into each other's' eyes, exhaustion and triumph coloring their vision. They lean closer; kiss. The kiss deepens and someone's hand grips someone else's buttock, squeezing in appreciation of the supple balance between fat and muscle. They pause. The delegate pads to the door, locking it, and before she can turn around Traynor has her pressed against the door. They have sex right then and there, and again on several surfaces in the office.

It was a day of firsts for the young data analyst; not only did she engage in scandalous activities in the office, but she also joined with an Asari for the first time (thank the goddess for soundproof walls). That was Keeaira, and though she doesn't leave Traynor with a number, she leaves quite the impression. They friend each other on a popular social networking site and start leaving raunchy inside jokes on each other's walls.

A few days later Traynor meets an agreeable C-sec officer named Valerie who pulls out the most adorably corny pick-up lines.

And then a Quarian named Sania who buys her a drink and tells her that she has the _prettiest_ eyes.

And as if blessed by the Gods themselves, Samantha Traynor suddenly finds herself living a fantasy. And for a time it is every bit as magical as she had imagined it to be (reaching a particular high point when Keeaira stops by for a visit in the middle of a date with Sania, and what ensues can only be described as the plot of a poorly-imagined fornax vid, much to the satisfaction of everyone involved).

But then things begin to get a little difficult. At first she thinks she can handle all the hiccups and complications that come with juggling. Her considerable data analysis skills help her keep everything organized: making sure not to schedule dates on the same day, keeping track of all of their likes and dislikes, remembering not to call one by another's name, remembering to bring her toothbrush when she spends the night.

It all becomes too much and the stress begins to eat away at her. Meanwhile, she barely even notices as Miranda slips off of her radar, not until it's too late anyway, and by then Sam is too exhausted to care.

* * *

The past week had not been a forgiving one. Breaking up with people was never easy for Sam, but spending the last few days breaking up with multiple women had been brutally draining. She sits now in her kitchen. It is early in the morning. The lights are off, admitting only the dim illumination of not-quite-sunrise. A mug of coffee blows soft wisps of steam below her scratchy eyes. She sits ensconced in the softness of her favorite robe, and looks forward to a day spent not worrying about anything at all; no dates, no worrying over how to break things off, no stressing about how bad a person she feels like, and certainly no work. She has called in sick.

The movies had lied to her; there was nothing glamorous about this, at least not for someone as genuinely caring as Samantha Traynor. Lesson learned, she supposes, sipping her coffee and wishing that it were a deep cup of chocolate shake.

She doesn't even look up to deliver her usual chipper "good morning!" when Jack walks into the room. The biotic ponders her roommate for a few seconds before sitting down herself, interrupting the silence as she pulls out her chair. It scrapes against the floor.

"Good mor-" she begins, when she is interrupted.

"Have you ever had so much sex, in the span of say, a week, that your head literally cannot stop…pulsating?"

"Huh?"

"Hypothetically speaking of course"

Jack taps her finger against the surface of the table, a tic that lets Traynor know that Jack is being thoughtful. "Wow. Weird question, but, a couple times…yeah. The human body is designed to take only so many orgasms in a short period of time"

Traynor laughs, quietly and pitifully, slowly running her hands back through her hair. "I figured that," she says, finding a strange comfort in the slight pinch of her hair being pulled against the surface of her scalp.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just a philosophical thought….thing, experiment. Whatever. Something"

"Okay…"

They enjoy a brief silence in which Jack turns her head to regard the first small wave of skycars whizzing by the apartment window.

"I broke up with my girlfriend," announces Traynor, suddenly. "Or rather girlfriends, plural." She enunciates the "s" in "girlfriends." "I did it one by one. Very systematic. I'm quite pleased with myself actually. One does love it when a plan comes together, no matter how much crying was involved"

Jack doesn't react like she supposed to. She doesn't offer a brusque "atta girl," or a playful love-tap. Instead she turns a soft gaze to Traynor, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Fine, fine. Just going through some existential sort of thing. General introspection you know, which I realize is your thing, but I've decided to try it out"

Jack snorts; laughs quietly. "I could have told you that." Her smile quickly fades. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, not really." Traynor says this while staring quite vacantly at their salt-shaker, a tacky thing in the shape of a mass relay. She looks at without looking at it. "Listen to me. I'm sounding more like you by the minute." She takes a deep breath, regaining herself. She looks to Jack, finally taking in the details of her roommate's appearance. "Is that a…_silk_ bathrobe?"

Jack looks down, self-consciously tugging at the lapel. She is a lovely woman. Aside from the clear oddities, her features are those of a classic beauty. _With_ those oddities she has a rough kind of prettiness. Right now, in that robe, she seems more the former than the latter. "I'm not sure. Maybe. Miranda lent it to me"

"Mira-?" Realization animates Traynor's face, "Oh balls," she mutters, slapping her palm over her eyes, "I forgot to break up with Miranda"

"What?"

She peeks out between her fingers, before realizing how silly she must look. "Er, nothing. What was Miranda doing here?"

"She thought I was sick the other day and kind of took care of me"

"She _thought _you were sick?"

Jack cracks a smile. "I was lying to get out of work and she came over. Jesus, she was so serious about taking care of me that I didn't even bother correcting her. Brought me soup and everything"

"Huh. I haven't seen her in weeks." The realization doesn't rouse any deep feelings.

At that, Jack looks like she's about to say something, but instead clears her throat, turning to look out the window. Traynor can't take her eyes off of her, suddenly picking up on her tough roommate's oddly vulnerable body language, her uncharacteristic reticence. "You know," she says, trying hard to word this carefully, "it sounds like she likes you"

Jack continues staring outside the window, arms crossed, agitatedly tapping her finger against her arm. She is obviously uncomfortable, but Traynor soldiers on.

"Maybe….you should ask her out?" The question spews awkwardly from her lips, and it feels weird saying it. "I don't know. I haven't been thinking straight lately. Not that I _ever_ think straight, haha…er, Jack? That was a joke. The latter part. And maybe the former, I'm not sure. Jack? Hello?"

More wistful window-staring. Traynor knows when she's being ignored.

She returns to staring at the salt-shaker, a feeling of contented exhaustion falling over her. "Alright then. It was just a thought"

* * *

Jack is an extremely lonely person.

Not in the sense that she is alone. She is not alone. Hasn't been for quite some time. She has many friends who care for her so very genuinely that sometimes she wakes up and thinks she's living someone else's life. How in the world are this many people willing to put up with her? It boggles the mind. Of course she never asks them that; the question is too telling of her shameful insecurity.

She can never quite tell what any of her friends are thinking, and so she never quite knows how to react when they do something odd. Miranda being so nice to her is definitely…odd.

So she doesn't think about it. Thinking leads to introspection, which leads to doubt, which leads to depression. Thinking is the bane of the lonely person.

And in lieu of thinking, Jack acts. To what end, she isn't quite sure, but in acting without thinking she finds herself at the foot of a great office building.

It's your generic Citadel structure, a little more understated than most of the architecturally ambitious buildings around it. Perhaps it is a statement. Alkahest Wetware makes a great deal of money; more, in fact, than most Citadel-based conglomerates, making Miranda Lawson one of the few people on the Citadel capable of buying large portions of station real-estate with her own money. Not that she would. In fact she seems to shun shows of ostentation, a modesty that is perfectly captured in the noble simplicity of her main offices.

Jack self-consciously shakes her head at that very thought. It isn't the first time in the last week that random objects have reminded her, quite bewilderingly, of Miranda.

She walks into the lobby, not showing in her posture how small the grand lobby makes her feel, and it occurs to her then and there that she hadn't quite thought ahead in this particular venture. Nevertheless, she approaches one of the receptionists and asks to see the CEO.

The young man regards her for a moment, his professional smile wavering only slightly. "Excuse me?"

"Miranda Lawson. She in?"

"Errr, do you have an appointment?"

"An appoi-?No, I don't have an appointment. She's a friend of mine"

"Really." It's obvious that he doesn't believe her. "Well if you don't have an appointment…"

She fixes him with a pointed glare. At first he isn't impressed, but something about her demeanor, a cool threat hanging in between them, makes him feel as if she is going to follow him home and murder his dog. Her eyes glow a faint icy blue. He swallows.

"Um, but…how about I get you my supervisor"

A sweet smile shines at his response. "Great, thanks so much"

Five seconds later Jack is confronted by a Volus. Having spent a lot of time with Volus biotics during the war, she can tell that he isn't much older than she is. Might even be a veteran of the war.

"I take it you're the one who scared young Daniel"

"Wasn't trying to"

A wry stare. "Uh-huh. Tells me you don't have an appointment"

"I don't. Lawson's a friend of mine"

"One would assume you could just call her then"

"Wanted to surprise her"

"Well I can't just let you in on your word"

She nods respectfully, taking note of the way he favors one leg over the other. That, and his attitude (which is more brusque than a typical civilian Volus) lets her know he is almost certainly a veteran. "I wouldn't expect any less from…what is it? Irune ground forces? Met many guys like you fighting on Earth"

He pauses. "You fought on Earth?"

She nods. "I was in charge of the biotic artillery units that covered hammer"

"I was in hammer," he says quietly. It is never an easy admittance. Survivors of the hammer ground assault are almost all severe sufferers of keen PTSD.

"Glad you made it out alive"

He considers. "Let me…get you in touch with someone I think can help"

"Thank you sir," she says pulling out her best Shepard-impersonation.

* * *

An hour later and Jack has either smooth-talked or intimidated her way to the top floor. Miranda's office lies behind two impressive wooden doors, stolid and grand. Jack might have been intimidated if she wasn't too pumped by her success in getting there.

Surprisingly, she is met by a strangely cordial-looking Vorcha seated at a desk outside Miranda's office. It wields a holo-slate in a vaguely threatening, yet somehow placid, manner. It is one of the few Vorcha that Jack has ever seen wearing more than a few straps' worth of clothes.

"Ms. Lawson be with you momentarily," it says, its gender indiscernible. It gestures to a plush couch, obviously intending for her to wait.

"Thanks," says Jack. Her experience with Vorcha has been limited, but she has never met one as confusion-inducing as Miranda's secretary. Perhaps it won't hurt to wait a little while.

She settles in to wait, pulling up some reports on her omnitool to pass the time. The elevator dings as she reads, admitting someone else into the waiting area, but Jack isn't paying attention. She barely registers the sound of the Vorcha engaging in conversation with the new arrival.

"Excuse me"

Jack looks up, "Yeah?" She straightens in surprise at the sight of the girl, "Miranda? Wait, no. You're-"

The girl smiles. "Oriana Lawson," she says, holding out her hand. Jack shakes it.

"Jack"

Oriana nods, giving Jack a thoughtful look. "Do you work for my sister? I think I would remember someone as striking as you but I can't quite place it"

Jack blinks, surprised by Oriana's directness. "No, uh, we aren't working together"

"Oh. I thought you might be. Miri has a thing about having intimidating employees, as I'm sure you've noticed," she casts her gaze back to the Vorcha who pretends not to have heard. She leans forward, whispering in mock conspiracy. "Don't be fooled though, he's a complete softy"

Jack laughs. "Good to know"

"Sorry if this sounds weird, but…have we met before? You seem familiar somehow"

"I do?"

"Yeah. Something about you…Um, sorry if I'm being rude. My boyfriend is always telling me I have to be more mindful of this kind of thing"

"Nah, it's cool. We actually have met once. Sorta. I'm surprised you remember"

"I knew it! I knew there was- gah!" Two hands fold over her eyes from behind, interrupting her in mid-sentence.

"Interrogating my friends now are we?" asks Miranda, having crept out of her office a minute before. She smiles down at her sister.

"I would hardly call it interrogating," says Oriana, familiar with these antics, "I was just wondering where I've seen her before is all." She takes her sister's wrists and pulls her forward, causing Miranda fall forward and hug her from behind.

"Hello Jack," she says, bringing Oriana into a headlock and pretending not to hear the complaints. "When my assistant told me a tattooed woman was intimidating her way to my office I thought that it might be you"

"Is this a bad time?"

"No, no at all. Bith can take care of the meeting, can't you Bith?"

The Vorcha looks up, nods, and walks into the office where a young businessperson jumps at the sight of him. Another similarly-dressed Vorcha exits the office and assumes his place at the desk.

"So," Miranda offers her friend a sunny smile, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Jack holds up a paper bag. "Here"

"Oh, thanks." Miranda reaches to take it and Oriana seizes the chance to wriggle out of her sister's grasp. Miranda pays her no mind, pulling out a poorly-folded silk robe out of the bag. It unfurls easily, like a flag to the ground. "I appreciate your returning it," she says, turning it this way and tha before putting it back in the bag, "but I bought this for you. It's yours"

"Really?" Jack puts on a face that looks like she's having trouble believing a particularly odd tale. "But it's so…nice"

"That's why it suits you so well"

"That's bullshit." She accepts back the bag. "But thanks…I guess." A moment passes, and Jack self-consciously climbs back to her feet. "Uh…well that was all I came for," she lies. "I guess I'll just be going then"

Miranda moves fast for someone in high heels and a pencil skirt, leaping over the couch and catching Jack's shoulder.

"Oriana and I usually go to lunch around this time. You'll join us won't you?"

* * *

It is a strange moment when the people closest to you start acting in ways you never could have predicted. Your son might be a bumbling fool in front of a crush. Your grandmother might actually be hostile toward squirrels. A class-clown of a friend might be a dour hardass when he's at work.

In the case of Oriana Lawson, her sister is bafflingly playful around Jack.

It is…unnerving. Not in a very unpleasant sense, just unusual. It's in the way she listens to Jack with rapt attention, in the way she casually leans over to brush her fingers over Jack's hand, in the way Jack smiles and she smiles blindingly back. Does she even know how weird she's being?

Seeing her like this is worth being almost completely ignored. Jack, in the unaccustomed position of trying to balance the conversation keeps asking her these rigid questions that she's obviously uncomfortable asking: "where do you go to school?" "What's your major?" "Um…are you a biotic?" Oriana can tell she isn't much for casual interaction. The difference between how she treats her and how she treats Miranda is scathingly apparent.

But the lunch is good, and Oriana learns a few interesting things about her sister. Before too long the sisters bid Jack goodbye, Miranda going in for a hug when it looks like Jack doesn't have the guts to do it herself. She falls into it eagerly enough though.

The two of them walk in amicable silence back to the Alkahest building. Oriana isn't surprised when Miranda suddenly threads her fingers through Oriana's own. Hand-holding is one of Miranda's embarrassing older sister moves, and half the time she does it to fluster Oriana in front of her friends. Not surprisingly Oriana doesn't like this; it makes her self-conscious. But she stands it because the other half of the time Miranda holds hands when she's feeling vulnerable, which isn't often.

"I…was pretty obvious wasn't I?"

Oriana squeezes her hand. "Don't worry about it. She seemed like the oblivious type"

"Not too oblivious I hope"

"You're both introverted. Someone's going to have to make a move something soon"

"Working on it, sister," Miranda puts her arm around Oriana's shoulders, "just not sure how to go about it without scaring her away"


	9. I Can't Change

Author's note: Thanks for the reviews everyone! Always appreciate that motivation fuel.

* * *

"How come every time I come here you're always vegging out on the couch?"

Sam's eyes glare out from a teensy hole in her blanket. "Never you mind," she says, reaching out to pluck some chips from a bowl on the coffee table, bringing them within the folds of the blanket like turtle retreating into its shell. The bowl had been filled and emptied many times that day.

Nyreen frowns. "Seriously, I never used to see you around here. Aren't you supposed to be some kind of workaholic?"

"I'm taking a vacation"

"Interesting concept of vacation." Shylene, lifts up a bit of Traynor's blanket, prompting the woman to _tsk_ in annoyance. She yanks the blanket out of Shylene's hand, rolling herself up into a great blanket burrito. "Whoa"

"It's more like an extended sick day," muffles Traynor.

"Ah. I see." Clearly she doesn't, but she wants to avoid putting her foot in her mouth. After all she may be friends with Jack, but that doesn't make her tight with the roommate.

Traynor attempts getting some more chips, but in her new position has some difficulty navigating her arms out of the blanket. She just ends up flailing about like an idiot. Finally, defeated, she crawls worm-like to Shylene's side of the couch. "Hey, could you pass me my chips?"

"What? These things? They're super unhealthy you know"

"I don't care. Come on, help me out"

"I don't think I should"

"Argh! Stop being such a bastard and feed me"

In an uncharacteristic fit of petulance, Traynor launches her blanket-enfolded self onto Shylene's lap. Not having considered the limitation on her movements, Sam realizes too late that her only options of attack are small little head-butts that are more cute than antagonistic. And she soon flops into inactive exhaustion.

"You alright there?"

"Just let me…stay here awhile. Tired"

"You are pathetically out of shape"

Traynor groans an annoyed concession.

"How do I look?"

Battle forgotten, both women on the couch turn their attention to Jack who has walked into view wearing an uncharacteristically elegant dress. She has the proud poise of a lioness, which is odd considering her typical aversion to such clothes. Hanging out with Miranda, as it turned out, had that effect on her.

"You look-"

"-fantastic"

Having the wherewithal not to blush in a burst of self-consciousness, Jack simply nods and picks up a purse (an accessory so foreign to her look that Traynor and Shylene both think they've imagined it). She walks over to the couch and coaxes the Traynor burrito off of her date for the night.

"C'mon, we going to this thing or what?"

* * *

The tickets had been a gift from Liara T'Soni, though why she ended up giving them to Jack, she had no idea. After all it wasn't even as if Jack was well-known for appreciating modern art, or really any kind of art that wasn't tattoo-related. Still, when Liara sent her the tickets to a very exclusive, high-end art-showing Jack didn't pass up the chance to go (ever since going to one with Sam a few years ago, she had developed a taste for the quality hors-deourves they typically served there).

The thing was, Liara had sent her two tickets: one for her and one for a date. The comfortable option would have been Sam, but ever since her multiple breakups she didn't much seem to want to go anywhere. Then there was Miranda, but, well, Jack wasn't ready to send that kind of signal, especially since she still had some feelings to sort out.

So finally date-duty fell to Shylene, who was happy to oblige. Though as soon as they showed up she started to spot people she knew.

"Oh look! That's my old instructor from my commando days. What is she even doing here? She never leaves Asari space"

Jack squints her eyes trying to spot the woman Shylene is pointing to. "I can't see them"

"Ooh! Ooh! And over there! That's my old sniping professor when I was in Palaven exchange training!"

"Why are so many former military here?"

In her excitement, Shylene doesn't quite hear her. "Do you think I could-"

"Go say hi? Knock yourself out"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem. I-"

"Great!I'llberightback"

"-will be right here. Great."

Jack shrugs, grabbing a handful of hor d'oeurves from a passing waiter and cramming them in her mouth. Nearby guests are appalled by the display, and whisper amongst each other how uncouth she is. Overhearing this, she stares them down, eyeliner burning with hostility, until, properly intimidated, the other gallery-goers back away slowly, making sure not to make any sudden movements.

After almost choking with laughter, Jack gravitates towards a particular painting that depicts a vaguely humanoid blur. The strokes are broad and wild, but they harmonize, coming together in a portrait of…Jack isn't certain. Sure is neat though.

"Jack!"

"Miranda?"

She turns, not quite certain if she actually heard Miranda or if she's hearing things. She turns, only to be immediately enfolded into a hug. As soon as she ascertains that it is, in fact, Miranda (you can't mistake the feel of those boobs against your own) Jack suppresses her instinct for violence and reciprocates.

"Hey! What are you doing here?"

Miranda is about to respond when she spots flecks of food around Jack's lips. "For goodness sake Jack, what are you an animal?"

"Only for you baby"

"Don't be crass." Miranda takes out a handkerchief and reaches to wipe Jack's mouth (where she was keeping the handkerchief, Jack isn't certain. Miranda's dress, while elegant, reveals too much skin to have much room for pockets). Jack smiles at the attention.

"Again, what are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here? I never pegged you for the art appreciation type"

"I'm not, really. Liara sent me the tickets so," she shrugs, "here I am"

"Liara's here?"

"No. It's just me and," she catches herself before she can say _date_, "a friend"

Miranda looks at her curiously, but doesn't pursue the topic. "Well I'm glad you're here. I'm here for the art. I always come to openings at this gallery." She looks at the painting Jack had been observing. "So? What do you think?"

"Eh. It looks okay, isn't really my thing, but..."

"I'm surprised at you Jack. Considering your entire body is something of a canvas I thought you would have more of an eye for high art"

"That's different"

"Is it?"

"Yeah. You couldn't put stuff like my tats in a gallery. It's, how'd you put it? _Crass_"

Miranda catches her eye and smiles. "I like crass"

A retort is at the tip of Jack's tongue but she's too busy stifling her surprise to actually say it.

Miranda turns back to the painting. "Are you sure nothing about it speaks to you? The color? The scale?"

"It's big and pretty. What else is there?"

"Now you're just trying to annoy me"

Jack smiles. Tables turned. "Is it working?"

"Like a charm. I hope whoever brought you here has the patience for this philistinism"

"Two things. One: shut up. Two: she does"

"Is it Sam?"

Jack scoffs. "You know I have other friends beside you and Sam, right?"

"Yes, but I happen to know that most of them are off-station at the moment"

"I'm going to stop you right there. We all get it, you're a big time CEO and you spy on everyone like a creep. And no, I don't mean any of _those_ friends. You wouldn't know this one"

"Ooh. Do I get to meet her then?"

"Why would you want to?"

"Come on now." Miranda's voice assumes sing-song playfulness, "I'm a little curious actually; what kind of people must you attract when you aren't off saving the galaxy?"

"Har har. She should be around here somewhere. But I don't need you scaring her off, so try to be nice"

"Scare me off?"

Without warning a pair of bare blue arms slide around Jack's sides. A smooth chin rests on her shoulder. "Oh lover," croons Shylene, "after everything we've been through I very much doubt you could scare me now." Shylene nuzzles her check against Jack's neck, observing with some interest as Miranda's expression shifts from playful to severely stoic. Going on Jack's descriptions of her, Shylene immediately and correctly guesses not only that the vision in front of her is Miranda Lawson, but also that Miranda's infatuation with Jack makes her more than a little jealous. Shylene decides to have a little fun with her.

If Jack is anything but nonplussed, she doesn't show it. "Where've you been?"

"Around. Hey! Come over to the tables. They've got this kind of Dekuuna ice cream thing you should try"

* * *

Before too long Miranda finds herself seated on a high stool at what must be the most impractically tall and narrow circular table. The table is so small that she can't help bumping shoulders with Jack every time she moves. She feels uncomfortable, but a bit giddy at the proximity.

It would be an ideal situation if only Jack's over-affectionate friend weren't there.

"Here," says Shylene, handing her a small conical glass of green ice cream, "It's mint flavor, I think. All the flavors are green so…" she shrugs.

Miranda accepts it, thanking her; decorum prohibits her from being too hostile.

Shylene hands Jack her own glass, caressing Jack's fingers as she lets go. The movement isn't lost on Miranda and she sits just a bit more rigidly. "So, says the Asari, "aren't you going to introduce me?"

"Oh, right. Shylene, this is Miranda, I've told you about her. And Miranda, this is Shylene. She's kind of my yoga instructor"

"A pleasure." Miranda's tone is icy. "You never told me you practiced yoga"

Shylene hums thoughtfully. "It's not really yoga. More of an Asari equivalent tailored to biotics. Jack is one of the best in my class. Her muscles are so…taut and limber." Shylene squeezes Jack's bare bicep as if to prove her point. "Exquisite, isn't she?"

Miranda's eyes narrow, too filled with jealousy to notice that Jack is looking at Shylene as if she has grown a second head.

"Okay," says Jack, "Well. You're acting creepy. Have you been having those purple drinks? I'm pretty sure it's like seventy proof"

Shylene puts on a cheerful smile. "Nope. I just have an enthusiasm for this kind thing. For instance you," she says to Miranda, "are a very powerful biotic. I can tell. You should come to my class sometime." She slings an arm around Jack's shoulders. "Jack here could probably show you the ropes"

Miranda's jaw clenches.

Jack, too weirded out by Shylene's sudden strange behavior, doesn't notice this, and addresses her friend a she usually would. "So you _have_ been drinking then," she says, prompting Shylene to bat her arm playfully. Jack returns with a love-tap, and the both of them laugh in mutual immaturity.

The conversation flows like this for a time, with Jack and Shylene laughing at some inside joke or another, while Miranda seethes in her own corner of the table, feeling more and more left out. Unused to the concept of balancing conversation (as talking to even one person at a time can be taxing for her), Jack remains largely oblivious to Miranda's mounting annoyance.

Finally Miranda decides to excuse herself rather than continue to be a third wheel. "Excuse me," she announces suddenly, interrupting Jack in mid-sentence. She stands, leaving her ice cream untouched on the table. She touches Jack's shoulder, nods to Shylene, and makes for a nearby door.

Confused by the sudden departure, Jack watches in mute surprise. "What just happened?"

"Do you really not know?"

"Did I say something?"

"Oh sweet starfish," Shylene pulls Jack into her arms, tugging her off the stool so that Jack has to awkwardly hop off. "You are adorable"

"You're making me want to punch you. Just so you know"

Shylene sighs, feeling just a little guilty for her conscious participation in making Miranda leave. "She really likes you, you know. Didn't you notice her getting jealous when I was being all over you?"

"What!?"

"How did you not notice?"

"I don't know! I thought you were joking around!"

"How did you get through life being this oblivious?!"

"By using violence mostly"

"Well that isn't going to fly here. Go on, go after her. I'll be fine here with my ice cream"

Jack takes a few steps away before stopping and looking back at Shylene like a lost child. Maternal instincts run rampant through the Asari's veins. She waves her arms in frantic shooing motions.

"Just go already you adorable douche!"

* * *

Having grown up without friends, Jack's ability to empathize is somewhat stunted. Still, watching Miranda leave like she did was not a pleasant feeling, and though she is pursuing her now Jack has no idea what she is supposed to say. What if Miranda was just bored and didn't want to deal with her right now? The thought is sobering.

The days of yore may have been the saddest of her life, but sometimes she missed the single-minded thinking that led her to approach any problem with the intent to kill. Things were simpler back then.

Now she has to deal with other people, and other people are confusing. Obviously they don't think the way she does, and she can hardly make heads or tails of what they're doing half the time. But then again most people aren't worth the effort which is why, more often than not, Jack is a rude wang. But the important people, people like Miranda, are worth the extra mile.

Now if only she can find that bitch then she can stop feeling so bad for something she doesn't know she did!

Five minutes later and she's still walking in an agitated huff through the needlessly complex art gallery known as "Orae's Fabulous Art Detonation" (so named for the eccentric owner, Orae Jara, a formerly indoctrinated Salarian billionaire who was never quite the same after the war). She finally finds herself on a balcony overlooking the Silversun Strip. The fun-seeking populace circle below amid the garish neon colors of the Citadel's foremost entertainment district.

"Why is this gallery so fucking complicated!?"

"It's made to be confusing." For the second time that night Miranda surprises her by speaking out of nowhere. The woman steps next to her, placing her hands on the railing and looking down. "The owner had it built this way to disorient potential burglars"

"That's…really dumb"

"Everyone thought so, but then a year ago when a notorious thief tried to steal an item in his collection, she was so frustrated by the gallery's layout that she gave up, and sent him a note of congratulation"

Jack laughs, though when she's done a silence that is at once awkward and meaningful descends upon them.

"It took me a while to find you"

"I didn't know you were looking"

"Well, I was." Jack steels herself. "Hey…about earlier, if I, uh, made you mad or anything…"

A fond chuckle escapes Miranda's lips. She lays her hand on top of Jack's, delicately stroking its length with her thumb. "You have nothing to be sorry about. I just get jealous too easily"

The intimacy is hardly subtle. Jack looks over the side of the rail, the feel of Miranda's hand on her own filling her senses. It occurs to her that they are alone, and given the construction of the gallery no-one is likely to walk in on them now. Had they never been truly alone with one another until now? With no pretense or condition? There was safety in that. You didn't have to put yourself out there if the presence of other people wouldn't let you.

But now…there is only Miranda, Jack, and a very heavy, terrifying, intimacy.

"I was going to ask you"

"Hm?"

"This…art thing. I was going to ask you to come with me"

"Why didn't you?"

"I don't...I don't know"

"What kind of answer is that?"

"Er," Jack's nervousness is palpable. "Never mind"

"Hey." Push. "C'mon, you can tell me"

"Maybe I didn't want to bother you"

"You wouldn't be bothering me Jack, how can you think that?"

"I don't know. How am I supposed to know what you're thinking? I'm just-" Jack catches herself before she can go on, but Miranda leans forward, catching her eye before she can look away.

"Jack, you can tell me anything." Push.

Jack almost recoils, but Miranda's gaze steadies her. She looks to the side, considers, forming the words in her head. "….I'm scared"

"Of what?"

"Of you!" Jack pulls away, already missing the warmth of Miranda's hand on her own. "Look, I can't just talk about this kind of stuff okay? It's just really stupid, and I'm just being weak. I know that. But I can't- you-" she struggles for words, but her thoughts lose coherency before they can jump off her tongue. Jack falls into helpless, impotent silence.

One last push.

"You don't have to say anything Jack," says Miranda, backing away, "I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable." A reassuring smile. "But just know that you can call on me anytime. It's never a bother. _You're_ never a bother"

Jack stands there, silent, visibly struggling to rationalize.

"Just like that?"

"Hm?

Jack chuckles. "You can make me feel better just like fucking that." Her hand clenches. "This is exactly what I was talking about. You always make me feel like such an idiot"

"Jack-"

"You want to know what I'm afraid of? Why I'm such a…a friggin' pussy around you?" She takes a breath, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than she has in a very long time. "You used to be such a bitch, but now you're so goddamn nice to me that I don't know what to think. And we're friends now, somehow, and I constantly think I'm going to mess it up or that you're going to get tired of me, but then you pull shit like this.

"I know that you...like me, or whatever. I'm not an idiot. I just don't know what I'm supposed to do about that. Because I don't know how to do…" she gestures between herself and Miranda, "…this. I really like you, and I don't…things are going too fucking fast for me and, Jesus, sometimes it feels like I need you but I don't want you to...fuck, I don't know, get your hopes up." Tears fall down jack's cheeks but she doesn't sob. She grabs a fist-full of her dress, suddenly feeling very self-conscious in it. "Jesus. I can't be the kind of person who wears dresses and silk fucking bathrobes; I can't be the kind of person you want"

"..."

"..."

"I didn't give you those things because I want to change you, Jack. I just want _you_. Exactly the way you are"

Miranda watches her, paralyzed with doubt. But Jack is right here, right now, crying in front of her. She steps forward, hesitant but resolute, and then steps forward again, reaching with both arms.

It's the sweetest relief when Jack steps into the embrace, pressing her face against Miranda's shoulder and wrapping her arms around her waist. Miranda just holds her. She doesn't try to kiss her, doesn't even entertain the thought. All there is this beautiful, inexperienced woman in her arms, and the lights of the citadel behind them, glowing as erratically as the pounding of Miranda's heart.


	10. Sub-Chapter

Shylene walks into the apartment without preamble, tossing her coat onto the sofa and falling gratefully onto the couch.

"Ah, that's better"

Traynor, who is wrapped in the same blanket Shylene had found her in, had been watching a soap opera in peace. She slowly turns her head to level a scathingly sarcastic look at the Asari.

"What do you think you are doing?"

Shylene shrugs, bringing her feet to rest on the coffee table. "Got bored at the gallery so thought I may as well come here. I knew you wouldn't have anything going on"

"_Excuse_ me? That is extremely presumptuous!"

Shylene looks questioningly at the TV, and then back Traynor. Her demeanor screams a smug disbelief. "Really now?"

Traynor huffs. "I don't have to justify myself to you"

"Absolutely you don't. So, what are we watching?"

Traynor bites down the angry retort. "Outlaws of the Code"

Shylene guffaws. "Seriously? That show is soo predictable"

"I don't care. I like it and I' going to watch it"

Shylene rolls her eyes. "Alright then. I guess it's not so bad. I'm gonna grab a snack, you want something?"

Traynor's air of hostility drops immediately. "Ohh! Yes! Toast me one of those blueberry bliss-cakes in the top cabinet"

"Aw, you have those? Can I get one?"

"Fine. But none of the blueberry ones. Those are for me"

"Stingy"

A few minutes later the two of them are situated on the couch, with a plate of bliss-cakes, and a cup of milk for each of them. Having apparently completely forgotten her previous animosity for Shylene, Traynor is leaning her head on the Asari's shoulder, occasionally reaching for the plate on Shylene's lap for another bliss-cake.

"Okay," says Shylene, gesturing insistently at the TV, "that is completely impossible. I don't care how good you are, you cannot just biotically lift a mech that size without at least popping a blood vessel"

"No it makes sense because Marcella was exposed to red eezo when she was in the womb. It superpowers her biotics"

"Red eezo? Really? That is so contrived"

"It's fiction. Stop taking it so literally. Besides, no-one really watches it for the actual plot"

"What do they watch it for then? Suspended disbelief"

"Har, har. No. The main story is pretty good…" Shylene coughs disbelievingly and Traynor swats her on the boob ('Ow! Why!?"), "like I was saying, _the main story is pretty good_, but everyone really watches it for the romantic sub-plot"

As if to make her point, the episode segues to a flashback scene of protagonist's mercenary days where she is making sweet graphic love to the Turian Primarch's wife.

Shylene immediately leans forward. "Holy shit this show is awesome"

Traynor rolls her eyes, "Not what I was talking about. That's just one of the many inconsequential sex scenes"

Shylene doesn't answer her, eyes fixed on the screen. Her reveries is only broken when , two minutes later, the Primarch walks in on his cheating wife and the protagonist has to jump out the window, wreathed in biotics to slow her fall. Shylene lets go of her breath and leans back into the back of the couch. She's quiet for a while.

Finally: "Why haven't you asked me where Jack is?"

Traynor shifts against Shylene's arm to get more comfortable. "Where is she?"

"She went home with some Miranda woman"

Traynor nods. "I thought it was something like that"

"You weren't worried?"

"I try not to be. If I get worried I get jealous, and when I get jealous I get possessive"

"What do you have to be jealous of?"

"You, for one"

"Me?"

"Yeah. I get jealous when she makes other friends. But it's not good for either of us to think that way, so I try not to worry about it. But you've been hanging around a lot, so…" Traynor searches for words and doesn't find them, "Urgh, nevermind, it's stupid"

"Aww, it's not like I'm not trying to take away your besty"

"I know that! Which is why I'm not worried. Jack has problems, but she's not an immature teenager. She won't stop becoming my best friend because someone else comes along. No matter how cool, beautiful, or interesting you may be, she's still _my_ best friend"

Shylene blushes, not that Traynor can see it. "You think I'm all of those things?"

"Don't let it get to your head," says Traynor, clearly embarrassed.

Whatever confidence that allowed Shylene to swagger into the apartment like she owned the place left her at this precise moment, as she realized that the woman snuggled against her was attractive, intelligent, funny, and seemed to have a high impression of her despite her swaggering into the apartment like she owned the place.

And Shylene becomes nervous around people she's attracted to; after all it took her several weeks to work up the courage to ask out Jack.

"What's wrong? You just stiffened a little"

"Er…nothing I- um- watching the show I guess"

"See? I knew you would get around to liking it"

"Yeah. I guess it's pretty cool after all"

"This position isn't very comfortable…" Tryanor lifts her head, and before Shylene can become disappointed about that the human lifts Shylene's arm, rests her head against Shylene's chest, and deposits her arm so that it's around Traynor's shoulders. "That's better," she sighs.

Shylene swallows. "Yeah it is"


	11. The First Date

"So you like me the way I am, huh?"

"Yup"

"What if I don't like me the way I am? What if I _want_ to change, just don't know how?"

"Then I'll still like you. There are many things that you can change about yourself, but you'll always be Jack"

"I don't really get it"

"Doesn't matter. So long as I see it that's all that matters. "Jack swats Miranda on the thigh. "Hey! That stings!"

"And _you_ don't make any fucking sense. S'like talking to Solus all over again"

Miranda hums. "Really? So you wouldn't mind sitting on a park bench with Mordin, holding hands in what has got to be the _most_ romantic setting on the citadel?"

The setting was indeed romantic. One of the hidden gems of the Silversun Strip. The Kahje Sunken Gardens featured ancient Asari architecture from the old meditation grounds, as well as the splendorous harmony pools from the spiritual reefs of the Hanar home world, filled with beautiful bioluminescent life. Soft hues of blue and red dance with the gentle movement of the water's surface, and from the bench overlooking the pools, Jack and Miranda have the whole place to themselves. On a stone bench, seated side by side, their only physical contact one's hand grasped in the other, they make a very picturesque tableau. Romantic indeed.

In the distance, the raucous sounds of the strip are barely an afterthought.

Jack rolls her eyes. "Har, har. How'd you even find out about this place? Cheesy make-out spots monthly?"

"_Oh look I'm Jack_!" Miranda teases, "_I'm a badass biotic bitch and don't have a sensitive bone in my body! Hur, hur, hur_! Don't pretend you don't love it. We just had a moment a while ago. You were crying and everything"

"Ugh. I cry in front of someone ONE time and this is what I get. And I don't sound like that!" She laughs; a gentle noise to fit the environment. Contentment drapes over her shoulders like the warmest cloak in existence.

On the balcony of Orae's Fabulous Art Detonation, after the two of them finally stopped hugging and calmed down, they meandered out of the art gallery and into the neon of the SIlversun Strip. Miranda didn't say much in particular, and Jack didn't exactly know what to do. Her first instinct was, of course, to go home and reflect, but that would have made her overthink and that's was the last thing she needed. Besides, being close to Miranda, even if they were only holding hands, just felt right.

So she kept doing it, and they kept walking, all the way to the Kahje Sunken Gardens.

But for all the wondrousness that the gardens had to offer, it was still a park in the middle of a city, and as susceptible to crime as any other. Especially in the middle of the night.

The hear the gunman before they see him.

"Okay ladies, hate to spoil your little moment, but I'll be taking all your valuables now, if you don't mind." A Drell with a shotgun comes out from behind a tree, his weapon leveled. "Now no sudden moves," his voice is bored, disaffected, "and we can be done before dinnertime which, for me, is in five minutes so, you know, lucky for you"

They don't say anything.

"Valuables! NOW!"

His outburst does not have the desired effect.

Jack and Miranda just stare at him. They just sit there and stare, a four cold orbs burning into his very being. The Drell hesitates. He notices that they don't move; they aren't at all panicked, or even scared. In fact, _they're staring him _down. And then it hits him.

Some innate knowledge stored in the most primordial portion of the Drell's DNA lights up like a firecracker. Under the intensity of their collective gaze time seems to slow down, and the gravity around him seems to gather in his stomach and sink below the ground below him, through the layers of the space station, and straight into space.

All of this hits him in the span of a second, and he puts down his shotgun.

"Uuuuuuhm…nevermind?" He accompanies his question with what he hopes is a very non-threatening shrug. They are not amused.

The sound of twin thunderclaps break the silence of the gardens. Familiar with the sound of a biotic charge, the Drell knows that they're behind him.

"You're going to beat me up now aren't you?"

All he gets in response is the cracking of knuckles. The world can be a rough place sometimes, but it's full of titans who don't want to deal with crap like this.

* * *

"You let him off surprisingly easy"

Jack hums in contentment as she and Miranda wander back into the crowded area of the Strip, opting for a more populous, less dangerous area to hang out in.

"Other than him trying to rob us, I actually kind of liked him"

"You're not serious"

"I am! And you know what? Somehow I think I'm in a better mood"

"Why am I not surprised that you find visiting heinous violence upon someone somehow cathartic?"

"Because you know me," Jack's tightens her hold on Miranda's hand just a bit, "and I think I know myself a bit better too. I mean, I didn't even break any of that guy's bones"

"You broke his nose though"

"Not a bone! And I feel good. Better than good! I feel- I don't know-" she stops in the middle of the street. Passing pedestrians mutter in annoyance at having to circumvent them, not that either of them care. Jack looks at her, expression schooled, but not enough that Miranda doesn't notice a sliver shyness, "I feel like having my first date with you. How about it?"

Jack barely has to wait a second before Miranda affectionately tightens her grip. "Sounds good"

"Okay this wasn't what I envisioned when you said this was our first date"

"Oh come on. Isn't this what romance is? Big gestures? Keeping things so we can remember the good times?"

"Ye-*sigh* I guess so, but this is ridiculous"

"Look, I'm not saying YOU have to get a tattoo. I'm just saying I'm getting one, and I want you to help me pick it out"

And because this ridiculous ritual is so plainly special to Jack, Miranda bites back her instinct to call it stupid. Not enough trust just yet. No-one said going out with Jack had to be easy.

"How about this one?"

"Nah, won't go well with the rest of 'em"

"How about this fish? It's pretty cute"

"A fish?"

"Okay, not the fish, clearly I'm out of my depth here, uh, how about-"

"Hey ladies I don't got all day"

Jack whirls on the offending tattooist, a biotic corona of sheer rage enveloping her body. "I'm on a date here ya dick! DON'T FUCKING RUIN IT!" She punctuates this with a weak biotic push that nonetheless has the man scurrying to the back of the store. "Right, where were we?"

"…"

"What?" She asks worriedly, afraid that she had done something wrong "What are you looking at me like that for?"

Miranda is expressionless for a time, worrying Jack even more, until she starts giggling.

"Oh my god, what!?"

"Nothing," says Miranda in between giggles, "you're just so ridiculous"

"Huh?" Jack isn't sure how to take that.

"Nevermind, it's a good thing. You make me laugh"

Again, Jack isn't sure how to take that.

Seeing this, Miranda stops giggling and puts on her reassuring face. "I really, really like you and I think you're funny. In a good way"

"Oh. R-right, yeah, no I knew that, uh," she hastily looks back down at the design booklet, breath short with nervous energy. She's being self-conscious again and Miranda knows it. It's there in her eyes, darting all over the page and looking at anything but Miranda, afraid that she has already somehow screed things up.

Like she always does.

Miranda sighs, but not so loud that Jack can hear it and get the wrong idea. "I've never thought about tattoos much. Never thought it went very well with my look"

"What? You think they're beneath you?"

The instant chagrin on Jack's face means she didn't really mean it. Lashing out on instinct. "No. I just wouldn't know what to get. I haven't thought about tattoos much, but I always thought that if someone were to get one it should _mean_ something. Something personal; symbolic. I look at you and…your tattoos are a painful, visceral reminder of everything you've been through…" Jack shivers ever so slightly as Miranda caresses her back, leaning in for a more intimate effect. She thanks god she's wearing a backless dress. "…But you lived through it all, and now your tattoos, every single one of them, are a monument to that triumph." Her hand lingers a moment longer, and then the moment passes. "Your tattoos are much better than any silly fish I could pick out of a book"

"…"

"…"

"You know…most of these I did myself"

They look at one another.

The look in Jack's eyes; that's what trust looks like. Miranda savors the feeling. The tattooed woman closes the booklet with a snap and climbs to her feet. She looks at the tattoo chair as if she's peering into a sun-swept horizon. She turns to Miranda, and the lighting is such that only her cheeky little smile can be discerned through the silhouette. She offers Miranda her hand.

And Miranda, knowing without having to be told what is going on, sighs loudly and audibly, and takes her girlfriend's hand.

"Hey Miri," says Jack, leading her to the chair and making her sit on it backwards. She slips on a pair of gloves and gets the needle going. "I really, really like you too"

The buzz of the needle is the perfect overture to a beautiful relationship.

* * *

"That's…huh. Wow. That's actually _really_ good. Think she'll do one for me if I ask her?"

"I don't know. But that's not-"

"I think I'd like a dragon around my bicep. Or maybe a Celtic knot"

"Shepard…"

"Nah, something simpler. I've always liked the idea of…kind of a blue wing…or maybe a star. It could be a red star…"

"Shepard! Not the point"

"What is the point? You just came waltzing into my office and took off your shirt. Not very seemly behavior for a CEO I might add"

"Shut it. I asked you; do think this is a god thing or a bad thing?"

"Well you knew going in that it would be a turbulent ride…"

"Yes…?"

"But as I see it, giving you a tattoo; that's pretty much her way of claiming her territory. How can that possibly be bad?"

"I don't know. Maybe she wasn't really feeling it. I mean it was a very romantic setting, ad she was vulnerable, maybe-"

Shepard sighs loudly enough to interrupt her. She leans back in her char and languorously bringing her feet onto her desk. She isn't wearing any shoes. "Look, you're overthinking this. Just like Jack. It's like, whoa, am I dealing with Miranda here or am I dealing with Jack? You said it yourself, you had a great time. That's all you have to think about. Don't overanalyze, I guarantee you, that's probably what Jack's doing right this minute"

* * *

**Meanwhile, in Jack's apartment**

"Just got the weirdest feeling"

"Is it the feeling of speaking with your mouth full? Ew, I can see the bananas you put in your cereal"

"Ha! I ever tell you I like the way you say banana? "Ba-naw-na." So fucking sophisticated"

"Please swallow, you're making me nauseous"

* * *

**Back in Shepard's Office**

"You're probably right"

"I'm definitely right. Remember who you're talking to. I saved the universe. That means I know what I'm talking about all the time"

"I'm glad that the lifelong bragging rights haven't gone to your head"

The former commander smiles, leaning back to bring her feet to the floor. It has the effect of making her seem much more stately and serious that she really is. She runs her hand through her hair in that way she does when she gets thoughtful. "The tattoo's cool, you're fine, and I'm happy for you. Stay the course. And try not to let the S.S. Jack/Miranda steer into waters that are too dramatic"

"I do worry needlessly don't I? I'm…thank you. Things have been going so well that I've been too wary to really enjoy it." Deep breaths. Iiiiin, ooooout. The future is arrayed in front of you, and so is Jack's. The dance steps are difficult, but that's hardly a problem. Their relationship was bound to be a little volatile to begin with.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just remembering something"

* * *

**Back in Time: Jack and Miri's Date**

"I can't believe I let you do this"

Jack is giddy as she puts away the equipment, neither of them paying much attention to the actual store owner muttering in the corner.

"Do I get to see it now?"

"Yeah. Hold on. It's not my usual style, but…here, what do you think?"

Jack takes off her gloves and holds up a mirror. With mirrors behind and in front of her, Miranda can see the design on her naked back. It's a fairly large tattoo, encompassing her right shoulder-blade. Composed in the same geometric style as Jack's tattoos, it nonetheless coalesces into something much less abstract. Segments reminiscent of the phalanges on Jack's spine tattoo swirl into a brutal nautilus shell shape, but the subtle white and blue coloring lends it an ethereal beauty. In lieu of tentacles, thorny vines sprout out of the opening with a flower here and there. They swirl around the nautilus and encompass most of Miranda's shoulder blade.

Jack was in such a trance that might have been able to keep going too. But as soon as the needle got dangerously close to side-boob territory Miranda declared they were finished.

The end result was the most beautiful piece of art Miranda had seen. It took her breath away.

"What do you think?"

Miranda gazes at her tattoo, mesmerized. Jack begins talking about how she shouldn't go near water anytime soon, or expose it to too much sun, or….

Miranda backs herself off the chair, not entirely caring that she's topless. Jack's eyes go wide and she trails off, unable to keep her eyes off of Miranda's chest.

"U-um….don't scratch it either…it…uh…"

"Jack"

"Huh?"

"My eyes are up here"

Just as Jack's eyes snap upward, Miranda's fingers delicately take the instructor's chin, coaxing her into a stand. Her hand finds its way to the small of Jack's back, and she pulls just enough that they are pressed gently together. Miranda smiles at Jack's spellbound expression.

"I love it," she murmurs, craning her head closer.

"Wha-?"

"The tattoo. It's beautiful. Thank you"

"Oh…yeah. No problem."

Her breath is barely there. It's flattering really.

Miranda keeps Jack waiting for a few torturous seconds before going in for the kill, pressing their lips together in what Jack would later describe as…well, she wouldn't be able to describe it really, because she had never had a kiss quite like this one. So soft, so gentle; and yet passionate. And nothing quite compares to the feel of Miranda Lawson's naked breasts pressed against her, neither did the impromptu make-out session, which only stopped because Jack had to punch out the tattooist (who they had forgotten about completely) for taking pictures.

They take a cab back to Miranda's apartment. No nightcap, but a very long parting kiss. One date down, two more to go. Or three, or four. Who cares in the long run, if this thing is built to last?

* * *

**Present**

"Good memory?"

"It's a doozy"

* * *

**Author's note: More to come. One more "arc" to go. Thanks for the reviews. To that one lurker person, I'm glad mine could be the first story you reviewed. If you're anything like me then a couple months down the line you will start writing fanfics! mwahaha!**


	12. How to Coax Affection

Jack's list of favorites is tragically predictable. Her favorite song is something she heard at a club once. Her favorite movie is "Blasto: the Jellyfish Stings," but only the first one, not any of those godawful sequels that rely on the coattails of a franchise rather than good writing. Her favorite video game could have been any one of the ultra-violent titles in her game system's memory. And her favorite book…well, she doesn't have a favorite book.

Jack isn't given to recreational reading. This is why Traynor is surprised when she walks out of her room one morning and Jack is sitting cross legged at the kitchen table using the reader function of her omni-tool.

"Whatcha reading there sunshine?"

Jack doesn't look up from the display. "S'a book"

"Really? Not a report? Or an article about the next weaponry exposition?"

"It's a book"

"Can I see the cover?"

Jack, unaware that she is mirroring the behavior of thousands of readers before her, rolls her eyes and sighs deeply before resignedly tapping the display, bringing up the hologram for an austere book cover.

Samantha raises an eyebrow. "Jane Eyre. Huh. Never figured you for the type"

"I should flip you off for that"

"Jane Eyre…Jane Eyre…who do I know who likes Jane Eyre?"

"We don't have to do this now do we?"

"Why I think it was Miranda! Miranda likes Jane Eyre. It's her favorite book in fact"

"How'd you know that?"

Sam thwaps her on the arm. "It's my favorite book too you jerk. We talked about it on our first date," she puts on a saucy grin, "looks like you did too, eh?" Her eyebrows positively jiggle with suggestiveness.

"Holy Christ, don't…do that. It's creepy. And it wasn't like that alright?"

"Oh? Do tell"

"Sam I'm trying to read"

What a surreal thing for Jack to say. Traynor raises her hands in surrender, backing away to where the cereal is kept. Pouring herself a bowl, she opts to join Jack at the table. Pleasant crunching noises ensue as she eats her breakfast. Jack gets up to make some coffee and then goes back to reading. It's a quiet, slow morning.

"Shylene came by last night"

That catches Jack's attention, and then she looks disturbed. "Did you guys….?"

"What? No! Get your head out of the gutter"

"Sorry, considering your recent track record…"

"I've told you soo many times to stop bringing that up. No, we just hung out. Watched some TV, ate food. It was fun"

"Shylene's a fun person"

"Yeah. We should hang out more"

Traynor gets a hum of agreement, and the two of them return to their respective activities. Outside the window a cruiser makes its way across the horizon, briefly obscuring the Shepard statue before moving on. Traynor watches its trail until it is outside of view. She turns back to Jack.

"So…you and Miranda"

Jack puts away the book and looks at Traynor from under lidded eyes. "Me and Miranda"

It's a dare to keep going, and Traynor wisely refuses to bite, putting on a brief exaggerated smile that nevertheless says everything she has to say on the matter. Jack returns to her book in self-satisfied silence. Finishing her coffee, she transfers to the living room and falls backwards onto the couch, still reading.

Traynor graciously washes the biotic's coffee cup for her, and shortly joins her in the living room, lifting Jack's legs and depositing them on her lap. Mindless television ensues. Traynor is still on the couch when Jack is called away to her weekly yoga class. At the end of the session she asks Shylene if she wants to go out for lunch. The teacher is evasive, saying she has a lot on her mind. Shrugging, Jack gets back to her apartment only to find Traynor still on the couch, snoring like an overweight cat.

"Oh come on! How long are you going to act like this?"

Traynor springs to attention, one half-closed eye still clinging to sleep. "Whuzzat!? Jack? You scared me"

"That is it. You are leaving the apartment"

Traynor burrows her head in the fissure between two pillows. "Nooooooo~ Don't want to. There's too much risk of having sex out there~"

Jack tosses away the pillows, effortlessly ripping them out of Traynor's hands. "Nope, we're getting you dressed and out of this apartment"

"No!"

"Don't make me do it Sam!"

"No!"

"You know I will!"

"You bully!"

"You asked for this!"

In a flash Jack straddles her friend's stomach. Her fingers descend on Traynor's ribs, tickling with the gusto of a thousand tumultuous feathers. Traynor screams, the smile on her face at odds with the terrible sensation of Jack tickling her.

"Jack! HAHAHA! This isn't- HA! Funny!"

"Neither is watching you slowly fuse to the couch!"

"Fine! Uncle! We'll do whatever you want!"

Jack mercifully stops, her fingers still raised threateningly above her shoulders. Traynor pants, her chest rising and falling with the force of a pump. Her forehead shines with a thin sheen of sweat and a strand or two of hair is stuck there. Traynor looks up through these two strands at her roommate, and Jack stares mockingly back.

A suggestive smile tugs at the edges of Traynor's lips. "Out of context, this would look very naughty indeed"

Jack is not amused. Her fingers descend threateningly.

"AAAAAH! No! Jack! I already- HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

* * *

"I can't believe you dragged me out here"

"It was for your own good"

"For the last time, I wasn't depressed"

"Then this shouldn't be very difficult"

"Ugh! Don't you understand? I'm a sex addict! I can't be around normal people until I've recuperated in the motherly arms of our couch and the warm glow of the television"

Jack rolls her eyes. "Drama queen. You're not an addict. I should know"

"Ooh, there you go again alluding to your mysterious past. Why are we here anyway?"

"We're hanging out. Like normal people. Two friends just having some fun. We haven't spent a whole lot of time together lately, just the two of us"

"We're just sitting at your favorite burrito place. I hate burritos. You _know_ I hate burritos"

"Well the idea was to get you out of the apartment. Mission accomplished. Now what do _you_ wanna do?"

"This isn't what I had in mind," says Jack her arms crossed over the side of the bath, "but I'm not complaining." Her eyelids flutter closed in warm relaxation.

"After this is the full body massage, followed by drinks in the solarium"

"Tha' fuck's a solarium?"

"It's a…it's got windows…" yaaaaaawn, "the drinks'll be good though"

"Don't fall asleep"

"Why? So relaaaxed"

Surprising Jack by not choosing to go to a bookstore or a chess parlor or something, Sam had jumped on the opportunity to visit a deluxe spa on the presidium. The place sat at the apex of one of the district's many plateaus, completely boxed in from the outside, but a beautiful villa is housed within. It offers many services, ranging from massage, tanning, that thing where they put heated rocks on your back, mud baths, and a score of other spa activities imported from all corners of the galaxy. Deciding to treat themselves, Jack and Traynor went for as many as their bodies could stand.

After the massage, their muscles rendered to jelly, they lounged in the solarium on twin poolside chairs. The artificial sun that burned neither too hot nor too dim was an excellent supplement to what had turned out to be a phenomenally well-spent day.

"Aaaaaaaah~" Traynor stretches her limbs out and above her, savoring the strain in her muscles as they flex and return to slumber, almost seeming to melt into the homogeneous fabric of reality. She smiles, true satisfaction having blossomed and proliferated throughout her body. "Best outing ever"

Jack, similarly satisfied but much less coherent, manages only to groan a little bit before falling back into her slow dance with sleep. But a thought drifts across the pool of her consciousness, and on a whim she takes hold of it, analyzes it, lets it go; and then realizing the enormity of her thought in the same a person might if they were on morphine, she grasps it fully and it ignites her mind into full wakefulness.

"Hey Sam?"

"Mm?"

"I feel…" her words evaporate into the silence.

"You feel…?"

"…Unfettered"

"Unfettered?"

"Yeah"

Traynor giggles. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"It's like…all the little aches I've accumulated just by being alive…they're gone, you know? Just like that. Poof"

"Hehehe. The massage was amazing wasn't it"

"Yeah but, no, that's not what I was talking about"

"Pretty amazing"

"You're more relaxed than I thought," Jack laughs. But she goes on. "But, see, this sort of thing, it only applies to the body you know? If I were stressed about work or something, then none of this would matter, because my mind would still be stuck on all the little responsibilities and whatnot"

"You are remarkably philosophical today"

"But right now, right this minute, I don't have any of that. Not even my…more painful memories can touch me. It's…great. Like all the emotional focal points in my life have just…I dunno, lined up for the first time ever, and I'm…happy"

Traynor smiles. "I'm glad we did this then." She reaches over and squeezes her friend's hand. Jack doesn't look over, doesn't even open her eyes, but smiles even wider and squeezes back. "Thank you…for dragging me out of the house. I guess I needed it"

"I was happy to do it"

"Even the tickling?"

"Especially the tickling"

Traynor chortles. "A bloody masochist is what you are." She squeezes Jack's hand again. "I'm glad that you're my best friend"

Jack looks over, and can't help but notice that as the light falls on Samanta Traynor's face, she glows just a little bit. She is, for five seconds, the most beautiful person in the universe. And though Jack's life has recently opened itself up to other possibilities, she can comfortably and quietly admit to herself, inside herself, that a little part of her will always be in love with Samantha Traynor.

Then Sam opens her eyes and smiles cheekily, breaking the spell.

"Hey, you say it too"

"What?"

"You have to say that you're glad I'm your best friend. I can't be the only one to say it or else it's too embarrassing"

"Come on Sam. That's not my thing

"Jaack," she says severely. No room for nonsense in her voice now.

"…"

"Well? Anytime now"

"…"

"Jack!"

"Ugh. Fine. I'm- *sigh* I'm glad you're my best friend Sam." She says this last part in a self-conscious mumble, not entirely aware that she is squeezing Traynor's hand.

"You mean it?"

"Of course I fucking mean it. Jesus fucking Christ, just…whatever, okay? Drop it"

"Aw, you're embarrassed"

"Shut up!"

* * *

Perfection is a relative concept. Miranda knows this. But for a very long time it was an adjective she applied to herself, and liberally at that. What she meant by it varied depending on the situation. Sometimes it was a sign of self-confidence; assurance in her gifts, abilities, and appearance. Sometimes it was it was self-mockery, a grim reflection on her inherent artificiality.

Yes, perfection is relative, and ultimately an illusion by virtue of its transient nature.

She likes to think she has grown since those days. Calling oneself perfect, no matter the context, is the sign of some deep-seated issues that she is glad to be rid of. But still, some days she can't help but slide into that mode of thinking. She just can't help it; because most of the time she just can't help thinking she's _better_ than everyone else.

Not literally everyone of course. But she is undeniably smarter than most of her colleagues, more deadly and powerful than her own security detail. Not only can she maneuver the political and corporate landscape with aplomb, she has intimate knowledge of every product her company makes. She's the CEO _and_ head of research and development, and people who don't take her seriously because of her looks are mercilessly cut down to size. She has strong morals too. She may be a stone-cold bitch but at least she doesn't take pleasure in petty cruelties. She doesn't double-park her car, and she doesn't belittle people because she can pick on their insecurities.

It's hard _not_ to be a little egotistic every now and then. But that's bad…right? Nothing wrong with self-confidence, but it shouldn't make her think that she's better than other people.

Right?

It's enough to give her a migraine.

Miranda Lawson's bathtub is the most impressive specimen of its kind on the citadel, not because it is especially big, but because it has perfect temperature control and filtration. It's simple. Not too flashy. And the best thing about it is that it is in front of a great window with a fantastic view of the presidium. It's a one-way window, of course; no point in giving the citadel a free show.

All in all, it makes for the most relaxing thing at the end of a stressful day. But even the bathtub can't stave off the most deep-rooted stress.

Whether you struggle with them or give in to them, you can't escape your personal demons. You can't escape your regrets. It is when she is alone that Miranda is the most regretful.

**If it were up to me there would put a control chip in your brain**

**It wasn't Cerberus, not really. But clearly you were a mistake**

"Ugh." The latter memory is particularly jarring, "I can't believe I said that." Miranda is a classy person; she keeps a bottle of bourbon next to her tub. It kills the stinging introspection until it's no more substantial that the bubbles in the bathwater.

She takes ahold of the bottle, forgoing the glass entirely. Unscrewing the cap, she poises to take a swig when-

*ding ding*

"Siiiiiigh." She taps her omni tool. "Who is it?"

"…"

"Who's there? I don't have the patience for-"

"H-hey"

That stops Miranda cold. Introspection forgotten, she leans forward in her tub, bringing up a feed of the camera above her front door. Sure enough: "Jack?"

"…You, uh, you said that I wouldn't be a bother if I stopped by, so…"

"No! Yeah, of course! Uh- I'll be right there, hold on"

She leaps out of the tub, almost tripping in the process. She forces herself to walk slowly, taking care not to slip and break her neck, but her sudden excitement seems to undercut that, and she sort of makes off in a vigorous hobble.

She slips on a robe, not bothering to towel herself off entirely, before rushing down the steps, pausing to make sure she is at least somewhat presentable before opening the door.

The look on Jack's face is equal parts amusement and hesitation.

"Bad time?"

"What? No, please, come in, come in"

Jack steps into the house all stiff and cordial. It's precious, considering she would have bullishly barged right in not ten years ago. "Nice place ya got"

"Thanks. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Uh, well, what do you have?"

"This way to the fridge Madame"

Jack snorts at that. "Lead the way"

And lead the way she does, pulling out all the stops for her patented seductive walk, hips swaying like a pendulum. She can feel Jack's eyes struggling to look away from her butt, the high hem barely keeping shielding her modesty. When they reach the kitchen she abruptly turns, catching Jack's inclined gaze. The biotic looks sheepish for a while before grinning.

"Tease"

Miranda doesn't comment, opening her fridge and gesturing to its contents like a show model. "What would the lady like this evening?"

"You have beer?" Jack asks, grabbing a bottle, "didn't think you were the type"

"There's probably lots you don't know about me"

"No kidding." They adjourn to the living room. Jack rushes to sit down first, and it's obvious it's because she has no idea what she would do if she had to sit down second. Should she sit close to Miranda? Or would that be presumptuous? Charmed by the pins and needles act, Miranda sits close enough to Jack that they are almost cuddling.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"A little bit"

Miranda is surprised by the admittance, backing away slightly. "Oh, maybe I should-"

Jack stops her. 'No, I'm just…not used to this," she takes Miranda's arm but doesn't move to do anything else. "This is nice"

"You don't have to be so stiff. I'm glad you came. I want you to touch me. I want us to spend more time together"

"Yeah, that's- that sounds great actually"

"Though maybe next time you come over you could pick up some coffee on the way"

The joke has the desired ice-breaking effect. Jack smiles. "Bitch"

"Ooh, I love it when you call me that"

"DO you now?" She gravitates closer. She can feel the heat of Miranda's face on her lips. They look into each other's eyes, smiles fading. The first kiss is the most natural thing in the world, a ponderous contact, tentative but exciting. The second is gentle, urgency mounting. The third grows heated, passionate; Jack crashes her lips against Miranda's, her hands roaming to the other woman's shoulders, poised to remove the robe. Miranda falls back against the couch and Jack follows.

There's a hungry look in Miranda's look. With her eyes glazed over and those lips parted ever so slightly, she looks more like a fantasy than usual. Her hair is splayed out around her head, still wet and clinging to her scalp. Her small robe falls open just enough that if Jack cared to, she could slowly run her hands up Miranda's waist, pushing apart terrycloth as she went along. It would be so easy, and so, so, so satisfying.

Miranda smiles up at her. It's the most beautiful thing Jack has ever seen. After a brief bout of staring at the magnificence below her, Jack realizes that she hasn't move. She can't move. And now she's hesitated for too long and Miranda's gaze has more concern in it than lust.

A hand finds its way to Jack's cheek, cupping it with mildness at odds with their previous passion. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know what's wrong with me...I'm-" scared.

"You don't have to force it"

"I wouldn't be forcing anything! I- I want you so bad, but…"

"But…?"

"I'm so fucking nervous right now." Her arms are shaking. "I just…I've never done anything like this before. Sex with me typically isn't…it's not how I want our first time to be"

Her eyes don't stray from Miranda's, and Miranda can see the shame there. "Hey. Hey, don't worry about it"

"I just don't wanna ruin this by moving too quickly." Or too violently. Jack's libido isn't used to restrait, or tenderness. "Isn't that a thing?"

Miranda snorts. "Yes Jack. That is indeed a thing." She smiles at the indignant pout, and gently pulls Jack down by her neck, letting her cheek rest on her chest. "We'll take all the time you need"

One tense tattooed body relaxes, huffs, and relaxes.

"Thank you"

* * *

"Tell me about your day"

Jack utters an amused, derisive snort.

"Oh come on. This is what couples do, probably"

"Huh." Jack nestles further into Miranda's arms. "*Sigh* Okay, my day was…it was pretty great actually. Went to a spa with Sam"

"A spa? That is truly unlike you." She plants a kiss on Jack's stubbled scalp, brushing her hair out of the way.

"Yeah, well, you gotta try new things right?"

"Indubitably. So…what? Massage, steam, the thing where they put the hot rocks on your back?"

"Yeah, all that. It was nice. I even had an epiphany"

"Really?" Jack can feel her smile against her neck. "And," she utters, breath warming the apex of Jack's shoulder, "the nature of this epiphany?" She plants a kiss there.

"It…doesn't matter. I just realized that I was happy. Made me wanted to see you." She hums in pleasure as Miranda plants more kisses. "What about you?"

Miranda stops kissing, hesitates at answering the question.

"Miranda?"

"It was…uneventful." And it _was_ uneventful. She went to work, relegated some tasks, had lunch with Oriana, came home to an empty penthouse apartment, and got depressed in the bathtub. But Jack doesn't need to know that. It wouldn't do for Jack to see that part of her. Not now, not this early int he relationship. The girl needs a rock, not a self-doubting egotist. "Just…really uneventful"

If Jack is dissatisfied with the answer, she gives no sign.


	13. Peripatetics

The ancient Greek peripatetics, like many philosophical schools at the time, hinged the basis of their beliefs on thought and reasoning, they just happened to believe that the best kind of thought and reasoning happened when they were taking leisurely strolls through designated Athenian dromos.

Jack hadn't the slightest clue what a peripatetic was, but had she the patience to listen to one elucidate on the benefits of taking a stroll, she might have agreed with them. Being the owner of a skycar, Jack, like many modern urban-dwellers, often conveyed herself from point A to point B with her foot on the gas pedal. And with a work schedule as hectic as hers, zooming from place to place only exacerbated her stress.

Going to a spa is all well and good, but Jack can't seriously envision herself making a habit of returning on a regular basis. For her, a simple walk through the city does her just fine. The presidium is a nice enough spot: clean and scenic, sure, but it just isn't her scene. She prefers to get lost along the gloomy alleyways of Zakera, the still recovering streets of Tayseri, or the crumbling derelict stations of old Bachjret. The crunch of un-recycled grit beneath her boot, dilapidation on metal walls where the keepers haven't ventured in months, small bursts of color that punctuate the nearly monochrome city-scape; these are the things that induce Jack's serenity.

It's not the dark that attracts her; it's the understated calm of these places, a reminder that the low places have a dignity comparable to the tallest tower on the Presidium.

Or something like that, she doesn't think about why she walks around so much, she just knows she likes doing it.

It's a way she can get her thinking done without her eyes having to dart every which way, or having to worry about every little aspect of her job. This is Jack's intentional alone time, and she is currently spending it by stopping in front of a local pound. She would not have stopped at all had she not spotted a cat peering at her from behind the pound's clear glass door. The creature sits there, staring like a witness to something truly interesting, before it turns and stalks further into the building.

Despite herself, she pushes the archaic door, swinging it open to the retro sound of actual bells fixed to the doorway. A cacophony of barks, meows, hisses, and all manner of animal noises rises, only to fall as a surprisingly robust young Krogan grumbles to his feet and shouts them all down. He takes one look at Jack and stomps to the counter that has likely not been manned for a long time. The cat from earlier is perched rather comfortably on his hump.

"You here to adopt?"

Jack isn't sure what she's here for, and shrugs.

"You'd like to browse then. Follow me"

He presses a button and a partition lowers to reveal a hallway lined with fairly voluminous cages. Each one houses a group of animals in a setting tailored to their needs. As such, some of the cages are actually plastic containers.

Figuring she has nothing better to do, Jack follows the Krogan down the hall, casually looking at the animals on display.

"Any of 'em catch your interest?"

Jack shakes her head.

"Keep looking, you might find one you want"

"I don't know if you noticed but there's a-"

"-cat on my hump. Yeah, I know. That one's not up for adoption"

They continue walking through the hallway, and many of the creatures seem to calm down as the Krogan draws near. Is his presence reassuring or dominating? Jack wonders.

"Where do you get all of them?"

"Heh. You'll be surprised to know that the citadel has more strays than people realize, and from all kinds of species to boot"

"And you bring 'em here?"

"I'm not the only pound on the Citadel, but for this ward, yeah, for the most part I do. But only the ones that can't fend for themselves on a space station. Lotsa ferals that operate just fine on their own. Mostly cats and pyjaks though"

"Doesn't seem like any of 'em want to leave"

"Yeah, they're pretty comfortable. But I'm just one guy. Can't take care of them all by myself"

They reach the end of the hallway and enter a sort of miniature warehouse that has been converted into an impromptu domicile. It's a large area, and would have been too much for one guy if it weren't for all the animals milling about. A couple of cats are roosting on the guy's bed, and a dog is lying underneath it. In a large stall-like structure is a space cow with a feed bag affixed to its mouth. It seems content to chew in peace. The cat on the Krogan's hump jumps off, immediately settling down and licking its haunches.

The Krogan tells her to wait. "I think I got something for ya," he says, retreating into yet another back room, no doubt filled with even more animals, leaving Jack to stand rather stoically in the middle of this one. The cat from before rubs itself against her boot, and she's about to kneel down and pet it when the Krogan returns, a tiny bristling ball of teeth and rage enveloped in his giant hands.

"Every time C-sec finds a Varren fighting ring they take the mutts to be shipped to Tuchanka. But the special cases, like this one, they leave to me"

Without warning he tosses it over and Jack grabs it by the sides, holding it at length as it writhes in her grasp. Its paws kick furiously, head swiveling over either shoulder to gnaw at her fingers. She halts its movements by suspending it in biotics, but is soon surprised when it pushes back at her with biotics of its own. It isn't a weak push.

"What the hell! What was that?"

The Krogan laughs. "He's an interesting one isn't he? Thessia breed. Exposure to eezo makes 'em biotic"

"Biotic fucking varren?," she takes hold of the pup again. He's calmer now, having exhausted himself with the biotic outburst, "That's awesome!"

Her excited smile makes the Krogan happy, and in the tradition of all wizened shopkeepers (though this one is neither particularly old, nor a proper shopkeeper) he nods in self-satisfaction at having found the one thing in the shop that suits the customer.

"You want him?"

"Fuck yes!"

* * *

"Oh my god Jack, he's…" Disgusting! "…adorable…"

What little sincerity Miranda was able to summon to say that is eclipsed by Oriana's excited squeal. "Aawwww, isn't he just the cutest, Miri?"

"Yes, I believe I already said as much"

Jack laughs at her girlfriend's transparency, but is even more pleased that her newly-acquired pet is getting positive reception from her sister. It helps that Oriana keeps cooing at him, even after he keeps trying to bite off her fingers.

"I'm trying to train the aggressiveness out of him." She taps him smartly on the head as he takes another chomp at Oriana's hand. "By the time those jaw muscles set in he should be easier to handle"

Small, scratchy Varren noises ensue.

"Where on earth did you get a Varren? I didn't even know they were allowed on the Citadel"

"The pound guy said they got him from a fighting ring. Can you believe that? What sick fucks would do that to a helpless animal?"

Miranda's expression softens, realizing that the impromptu adoption might have been prompted by something more than a whim. "Indeed"

"I thought you might find him interesting, what with the biotics and all"

"Wait what?" Miranda crouches down. "Is this one of the Thessia breeds?"

"Oh yeah. It's a biotic Varren"

Miranda lets out a most ladylike snort. "Of course. Of all the pets you could have adopted you somehow end up with the one with biotic capabilities"

"Stop psychoanalyzing cheerleader, I'm well aware of the symbolism here"

This gets Miranda to laugh. "Right, right, sorry." Fascinated despite herself, she prompts the Varren with a soft biotic lift. Startled by his sudden weightlessness, he reacts with a biotic throw, but rather than hit the intended target, he hits the ground at point-blank range, launching him at speed towards Miranda's ceiling. He whines all the way to the top before Jack and Miranda hastily cushion his impact with a few layers-worth of biotic barriers.

Once again at the mercy of gravity, the Varren promptly drops to the ground, only to be caught by Jack's waiting hands. The fact that he has rolled up into a ball makes the catch that much easier. As Jack sets him down he climbs frantically back up her arms, depositing himself in her elbow and rolling up again.

"I think you spooked him." Says Oriana worriedly, fawning over him even more, Jack looks to Miranda bashfully.

"That's probably enough excitement from me for one day"

"Don't tell me you're leaving"

Jack has a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look. "Weren't you and your sister were just about to go out? I don't want to interrupt your plans"

Before Miranda can launch into her reassurances Oriana beats her to the punch. "Please, Jack, come with us. We were only going to meet my boyfriend anyway. I'm sure he wouldn't mind one more person. Besides, I'd really like to get to know you better"

Unused to someone so comfortable around her after only having met once before, Jack hesitates, looking to Miranda. "Sure, yeah. That sounds cool actually," she says, feeling the initial stirrings of what it must be like to have a sister. It wouldn't hurt for her to know Oriana a little better. "You think I can bring my Varren?"

* * *

Lunch with the Lawson sisters was interesting and enjoyable. The Varren behaved himself, mostly because he was still paralyzed with fear and had eventually fallen asleep in a take-out bag she took from the restaurant. Oriana is a nice girl; certainly a lot less complicated than her sister, though no less intelligent. It is this niceness that makes Jack like her, though it certainly doesn't hurt that she thinks that the Varren in cute.

Matt, Oriana's boyfriend, proved himself in Jack's eyes by clearly realizing how lucky he was. His obvious fear of Miranda made her like him even more, even though he didn't really talk all that much during lunch. Overall a decent guy, Jack supposes.

What bothered her was Miranda's reaction to the whole thing. She was cordial, but it was obvious she held some distaste for Matt. Whether this was from a character flaw apparent only to Miranda herself, or a natural hostility toward any of her little sister's suitors, Jack wasn't sure. All she knew was that it bothered her when she later asked Miranda if anything was wrong and Miranda smiled and told her that everything was fine.

Jack can recognize when someone's putting on a mask. Miranda was lying.

Something to think about when she gets home, which will happen after a few more seconds in the elevator. The Varren is still sleeping in its take-away bag.

To her surprise, Shylene is sitting on her couch, and swaddled in a blanket next to her is a sleeping Samantha Traynor.

"So…this is different"

Shylene shushes her. "She's sleeping"

"I can see that," responds Jack in a softer voice. "What are you doing here?"

"What? I can't hang out at my friend's place?"

"Since when are you and Sam friends?"

"Since shut up"

Jack peeks at the TV screen. "Are you watching the first season of _Outlaws_? I thought you hated this show"

"I never gave it a chance alright? It's not terrible"

Jack narrows her eyes suspiciously, looking from Shylene to Sam. Realization dawns on her. "Do you want to bang my best friend?"

"Ssssssshhhhhh!" they both look to Sam, who merely stirs. "No I don't!"

That reaction tells her everything she needs to know. And as she wonders where her friend's subtlety went, she grins ear-to-ear. "You so do!"

Realizing how loud their feverish whispering actually is, Shylene frantically motions for them to go to the kitchen. Once there, she pours herself a drink. Spotting the upscale take-out bag she reaches for it in hopes of finding some food, only to yelp when she feels coarse leathery skin and scales.

"What the hell is that!?"

Jack takes the Varren out of the bag. He moves his legs as if running. "Biotic Varren. S'my new pet"

"Huh." Shylene gently scratches the sleeping Varren's chin and smiles as his little legs move even faster. "He got a name?"

"Eezo"

"Clever"

"Right?" Eezo wakes up and nips at Jack's fingers. She raps him on the head and he settles down again. "Okay, so it's none of my business alright? But still, I mean…you and Sam?"

"What? Is that so weird?" Her eyes widen when she realizes she's as much as admitted her infatuation. "Shit"

"Hey I'm not judging. Just…confused, I guess. Why are you interested all of a sudden? You didn't show any signs or anything"

Shylene sighs. "It's a recent thing"

"How recent?"

"I don't know. After you blew me off at that art showing"

"Hey! You practically pushed me out of there"

"Okay, fine. After you _left_ I came back here. Sam seemed cool, nonthreatening. We started hanging out, and…I don't know, all of a sudden she was very, very threatening"

"Ha. That's a word for it"

"I mean she's beautiful, smart, funny, and her accent is…" Shylene thinks about it. "The word "divine" comes to mind"

"She'll be glad to hear that. She has a thing for voices. Jesus, when did you get so sappy?"

"Says the woman who tattooed her current girlfriend on the first date"

"I didn't say it was a bad thing." She clinks their glasses together. "She has no idea you feel this way does she?"

"She thinks that I like Outlaws of the Code. I'm not exactly being transparent"

Jack chuckles. "Yeah…Sam's kind of oblivious"

* * *

On the list of ways Samantha Traynor does not like being woken up, having her toes being gnawed on by a Varren puppy figures at the top.

A high-pitched scream rouses Jack from her sleep. Blinking away drowsiness, she looks to the basket at the side of her bed, cursing when she sees that not only is Eezo missing, but the door to her bedroom is ajar. She scrambles out of bed, barely taking the time to slip on a tank top and some underwear before rushing to the door.

She throws it open, only to hastily back up as Sam is already standing there, holding up a happily panting Eezo. She gives her roommate a cold glare before depositing him in Jack's hands. He doesn't bite her, but sort of lets his tongue rest on her knuckles.

"You're lucky that of all the pets you could have got, I'm not allergic to this one." And with that said, Samantha stalks back to her room.

"I think that means you have her approval, little guy"

Eezo gurgles/growls his delight.

* * *

Author's note: Slow going, I know, and maybe a tad confusing. Seems in a lot of fics like this the conflict is created by introducing new threats to the galaxy or people with grudges. Not entirely sure what I'm doing trying to make the conflict entirely internal to the character's minds. Self-doubt, trepidation; that sort of thing. Still, thanks for the support I'm getting. Keep reading and we'll get through this in no time.


	14. Invariably, a Fight

Contrary to popular opinion, board meetings, if you are running them correctly, can be highly enjoyable. The static interplay of ideas among colleagues, the creativity, the rivalry; it all makes for a fulfilling work environment, and Miranda is happy to be at the helm of such enterprises. Granted, this is when she has meetings with her own staff. When she has meetings with others on the other hand, such as one of the three boards of directors she belongs to, things can get very boring indeed.

Seriously, all they do is decide how to allocate resources like children playing eeny-meeny-miny-mo. It can get so boring that it isn't even worth being a majority shareholder on some days.

She yawns, long and loud, not really caring that she's doing it while the other board members are trying to talk over one another. They each have their own arguments, but they're pushing their own agendas with arbitrary data. A Salarian to her right, obviously also bored, gives her a nod. She smiles at that. When the Salarian in the room is tired of running numbers, that's a sign that they're spending too much time at the table.

_Shut up and say something useful you useless sacks of shit!_

She doesn't voice this concern however, as she has been guilty in the past of taking over meetings and steering them according to her own whims. Cognizant of this, Miranda stays silent this time around. No company can thrive if they run on the ideas of a single person, and if she speaks up that is what will invariably happen.

_I'm better than all of you!_ Except for maybe that Salarian. They should do lunch sometime.

She checks her watch, sighs, and watches as the Salarian shakes his head. Nodding at him as if to say, "I'm right there with you pal," she settles in for another hour of droning discussion.

An hour later and she's the first one out of the board room, pushing past the glass doors and calling one of her Vorcha assistants to bring the car around. She keeps a fast pace lest anyone has any ideas of holding her back to discuss anything. A Turian looks to be approaching her with a sheet of papers and she speeds up, practically diving out the front doors and into the waiting maw of her luxury car. Bith sits smartly in the driver's seat wearing a pair of sunglasses affixed to his face-spikes. Shriven is seated in the other passenger seat, and passes Miranda a thermos of tea.

"You are a god-send Shriven," says Miranda, accepting the tea. "Anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

Many interesting things had indeed happened at the offices of Alkahest Wetware that day. Someone in R&D accidentally spent the day in a biotic stasis. A man proposed to his girlfriend in the middle of lunch hour. An office party on the third floor received a nasty surprise when they found out that the cake shop they had ordered from had, instead of sending a mix of species-compatible cakes, sent cakes that were meant solely for Turians and Quarians. The Turians and Quarians at the party were dismayed, to say the least, when their co-workers were shipped to the hospital amidst bouts of terrible vomiting.

Yes, many interesting things happened that day, but Shriven and Bith both knew that there was only one thing that Miranda was interested in hearing about.

"Yes. Jack called to confirm the time and place of your date this weekend"

* * *

For as long as Miranda will live, she will be proud of herself for being the only person to get Jack to wear a dress not just once, but twice. The one at the art opening was spectacular; an elegant thing to compliment Jack's raw power. Sure, Jack doesn't have to wear a dress to satisfy her; she is beautiful no matter what she wears. But when she makes the effort to make Miranda happy by wearing yet another dress; well, all she can say is:

"Wow"

Jack turns this way and that in a simple black-and-white striped halter-neck. Dresses aren't her thing, but she knows Miranda likes them, so… "Yeah it's pretty great isn't it?

"I thought-"

"Yeah well, I'm not gonna be wearing shit like this all the time, but hey, this one's pretty cute. And it makes me look fucking metal. So I got it." Indeed, along with those high boots she does look quite metal.

"You look fantastic," Miranda mutters, marveling at the way the dress looks so _good_ on her girlfriend. With a relatively short skirt and no sleeves, there is plenty of tattoo on display.

"Not looking too bad yourself there. You should tie up your hair more often"

Miranda has yet to get used to the fluctuating intensity of Jack's flirting, so she offers a sincere, albeit mumbled, "Thanks," and takes her girlfriend's hand.

The Reaper War had sprouted many memorials throughout the known galaxy. There were memorial walls made of precious metals and minerals that extended for miles, emblazoned with the names of billions of casualties. There were commemorations for the noble sacrifice of millions of soldiers, markers for the victims of specific enemies, statues of heroes both living and dead, and eternal flames lit in places of prominence.

The Citadel sported its own fair share, and the giant Shepard statue was the most prominent (and the most ostentatious). Erected as a symbol for galactic unification, it nonetheless served its purpose as a reminder of what people could do if they banded together. Of course there are humbler memorials as well, such as the simply-named Memorial Park on Tayseri Ward. With landscaping and weather control on-par with Presidium parks, the Memorial Park is a great place for people with lighter wallets to relax in the relatively claustrophobic environment of the Citadel.

It is also an excellent place for a second date.

"This is our second date? Really?"

"Yep"

"It feels like there were more"

"Nope. This is only the second date"

"Huh. Imagine that." Jack eyes the basket in Miranda's hands. "But seriously? A picnic? Kinda cliché"

"I think cliché can be good thing every once and a while. Besides, I don't think I can handle another tattoo right now"

Jack grins. "But I can think of the perfect place to put it…." And because Miranda's hands are busy with the basket, she can't fend away Jack's groping fingers.

"Hey!"

"Better walk fast or I'll just keep going"

"Argh! You dick!" Miranda picks up her pace, running quickly despite the weight of the basket. Jack chases after her easily. Cresting the hill, Miranda quickly sets down the basket and turns around right as Jack is about to grope her again. Startled, she isn't able to back away before Miranda can envelop her in a tackle and bring them both falling down onto the grass.

A little exasperated, Miranda catches her breath while looking down at a smugly grinning Jack. "You're a jackass you know that?"

"You have the sexiest accent," responds Jack in mock dreaminess.

Miranda rolls her eyes, but leans down for a kiss anyway. She twitches irritably when Jack's hands find their way to her butt again. She twitches, but she doesn't complain.

* * *

Lunch is a compromise between Miranda's highbrow tastes and Jack's baffling predilection for junk food. She smiles at Miranda's thoughtfulness: all the junk food comes from Jack's favorite places. It's touching really, enough to eclipse the utter corniness of a picnic for a second date. The fake sun is out in full force (though not too much that people start sweating), there are children laughing in the distance, and Eezo is having a ball playing with a hologram of a squirrel that will keep running until he is exhausted from chasing it.

"Want some of my burrito?"

"I'm fine"

"How? That fancy food comes in microscopic helpings"

"The idea is quality over quantity"

Jack respects Miranda too much to tell her how stupid she thinks that is. She does, however, say, "You're a biotic. You _have_ to eat a lot or else you'll fry your brain"

"That's what the nutrient bars are for"

"Seriously? That's like, military rations. Military rations taste like shit. Come on, it doesn't even have to be the burrito," she goads, waving a wing of fried chicken in Miranda's face. "S'not like you'll gain any weight. It tastes good, I promise…" she keeps waving the chicken wing.

"Stop that"

"Nu-uh. Not until you have a bite." Plus Jack is curious to see what Miranda is like angry. She's seen it before of course, directed at her even, but the last few weeks have been a constant exercise in watching Miranda bottle her emotions. She hadn't recognized it at first, but spend enough time with a person and patterns emerge.

And just like that: "Fine." Miranda catches the wing with her teeth in mid-wave, tearing a sizeable piece off and holding a hand under her chin so nothing dribbles onto her lap.

"Whoa. Savage"

"I aim to please." Her tone is decidedly sarcastic.

"Aww," Jack wipes off flecks of grease on Miranda's cheeks. "My bad. If you really didn't want any you could have just told me to stop"

"It's fine," says Miranda, clearly not savoring her one bite of chicken wing.

"If you say so"

Miranda sighs. "It's fine," she says in a gentler voice.

"Heard you the first time"

Not liking the distaste in Jack's tone, Miranda scrambles for a safer subject. "How's Eezo been treating you?"

Knowing what her girlfriend is doing and deciding to let it slide, Jack summons Eezo over with a slight biotic pull. The Varren doesn't react as erratically as he used to, panting and staring placidly into space as he floats through the air and into Jack's arms.

Jack likes her Varren. She cuddles him under her chin and nuzzles his muzzle with her nose. "He's just been the biggest cutie, haven't you boy? Haven't you?" Her cutesy voice for addressing him is so ridiculous that Miranda almost spits out her drink laughing.

"What?' Asks Jack, aware of her own ridiculousness and smiling because of it, "You never seen a fuckin' pet owner before?"

"You are just too adorable"

This earns Miranda an embarrassed flush. "Shut up," she says wearily.

For such a cliché, it isn't a very orthodox date. They don't speak to each other very much, opting instead to eat and enjoy the silence. For the most part it is a companionable silence, but there is still an element of awkwardness that Miranda isn't entirely sure how to get rid of. When they've finished up the food, she packs everything back into the basket and settles in to watch the fake sunset. To suit the cycling representation of various planets the sun tonight is blue, spreading a faint azure haze over the park and painting the sky a breathtaking cobalt.

"Pretty huh?" Whispers Jack. "It's like someone has ignited the sky with biotics"

"I didn't know you were a poet"

Remembering her own amateurish attempts at angsty poetry, Jack is quick to deny. "Fuck off, that was something I saw on TV once…or something"

"Mm-hm, sure."

"Forget I said anything." But what's the point in lying? By all accounts Miranda has proven that she's here for the long run. They sit there for a while in contemplative silence until Jack breaks it with a sigh. "Actually I have written a poem or two"

"Really?" Miranda's surprise is neither incredulous nor mocking. But she does laugh a bit.

"Hey! Don't fucking laugh!"

"I'm sorry," says Miranda, chuckling, "it's just- it actually makes sense. Aw, don't look at me like that. C'mere"

Jack acquiesces, but doesn't let go of her bravado just yet. "I'm serious, that was really embarrassing to admit"

"You'll have to show me a composition sometime"

"Fuck no! Are you kidding? This was like ten years ago. They all suck"

"I'm sure that's not true"

"Ugh, it's all real dark stuff about suffocating, and depression, and I used the word "darkness" way too often"

"…"

"You're laughing again. Stop laughing!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll stop. It's just too cute. I can imagine you hunched over your word processor, tongue sticking out the side of your mouth in concentration…"

The image is spot-on, and Jack turns her head to hide her flush. "Oh so you don't have any embarrassing hobbies? No deep or personal secrets?"

Miranda dodges the real question. "I don't really have any hobbies"

"Everyone has hobbies"

"I…guess I like to read literature"

"Fuck, that's not a hobby. Everybody reads. C'mon, give me something juicy

Miranda is caught in a moment of panic. Unable to think with a cool head, she can't help but think of all the secrets she's kept, secrets she was always sure she would take to the grave. Could she tell Jack that she has an irrational hatred of every boy Oriana brings home? Should she talk about the depressingly lonely years of one-night stands organized over the extranet that had led to this first, bizarrely healthy relationship? Could she talk about how she suppresses her anger so often these days that she sometimes doesn't feel like the real Miranda anymore, but some projected copy?

For Miranda, secrets are never just a matter of embarrassment. They are a matter of shame.

If she had been smart, she would conjure up some nonsense secret. Or perhaps freely admit that she meets with a therapist every month to talk about the war.

But Jack's request derails her, and in her expression and overly-long hesitation, it's clear that Miranda has a lot to hide.

"I…" Why can't she think of something?! "There's…nothing really," she finishes lamely, relived that she could say _something_ at least.

Jack makes a face, turning away in a poorly-veiled show of exasperation. Ice seeps into Miranda's gut. She's done something wrong. She isn't sure what it is, but whatever it was has soured Jack's mood. She tries to think of something to say in placation, but words remain nebulous in her panic, floating out of reach like ink underwater.

"Jack? What is it? What's wrong?"

Jack doesn't look at her. Eezo keeps wiggling his legs in the air as she scratches his belly, ignorant of the drama.

"Forget it," says Jack, "I'm out of here." She gets up, scooping up Eezo and depositing him in her tote bag. He looks over the side curiously, tongue wagging. Before she can leave outright Miranda grabs her wrist.

"Hey!" She says, confusion and hurt swimming in her eyes, "What did I do?"

Jack opts not to even answer. She doesn't snatch her hadn't back or storm off, but stares at Miranda until Miranda's fingers slip off her wrist, and then she just leaves. Too shocked to pursue her (and figuring such an action would be unwise anyway) Miranda remains on the picnic blanket, playing and replaying the events of the last minute in her head to see where she went wrong.

Before she can put her finger on it, she takes the time to watch Jack's departing figure, unable to help from watching the way the sun dress hugs her butt. Biting her lip, she utters a single, soft, disconsolate "Fuck."

* * *

"Just like that?"

"Just like that"

"She left"

"Yep"

"Just like that"

"In the middle of a date too"

Shepard ponders the situation. "Huh. Why do you think she did that?"Miradna glares at her, wishing she hadn't had the wherewithal to refuse the drink she was offered upon entering the T'Soni household.

"I don't know! If I knew I probably wouldn't be here would I!?"

Shepard grins. "It's like I have a front-row seat to the galaxy's most awkward rom-com. Tell me, when they come out with the movie do you think they'll fabricate a meet-cute, or give the actual one where she threatened to tear apart your insides?"

"Please. Your love life was hardly sunshine and rainbows. Need I remind you of your almost accidental courtship of not one, but three separate ship-mates?"

Shepard flushes. "Low blow!"

"Remind me how many times you had to awkwardly reject someone who had gotten the wrong idea?"

"I get it, jeez." At this point Liara walks into the room.

"I'm sorry Miranda, we are being poor hosts. Shepard, maybe you could fetch our guest something non-alcoholic"

Shepard departs, muttering to herself as she makes her way to the kitchen. Liara smiles fondly after her, and then regards the woman on her divan.

"You shouldn't tease her about that stuff you now, she's very sensitive about her romantic illiteracy"

Miranda smiles ruefully. "I shouldn't, but someone has to keep her from getting a full-head"

"Also I do not appreciate reminders that I might have lost her to someone else"

"My apologies." Miranda slumps to her side, sighing wearily.

Liara looks down at her in pity. The Miranda in front of her now is very far divorced from the agent she met all those years ago back on Omega. That woman's agenda was colossally ambitious, and she was prepared to defy death to make it a reality. And here she is now, reenacting a timeless ritual of someone running to their best friend because of girlfriend troubles.

"Miranda"

Miranda doesn't respond, but rather cocks her head to the side to indicate that she's paying attention.

"Are you asleep?"

"No," she mumbles, irritated that Liara hadn't gotten the message, "just thinking"

"Hmm." And already it had devolved into an awkward conversation . She and Liara share a connection because they were both the most immediately responsible for bringing Shepard back to life. But they hadn't been actual friends until recently, and that was only because of their close connection to Shepard in the first place.

Still, as little as they may know about one another, they cannot deny that they have very much in common.

"It is…" begins Miranda, stumbling to find the right words, "…difficult for me to get attached. To anyone. And when I do I'm never entirely certain how to keep them with me"

"I can relate. I always prefer a measure of distance between myself and the people around me. It is always easier to deal with them when you're talking business or academia"

"Exactly"

"But when you find the right person, who cares for you when you don't have those things to use as a crutch, it's like the world changes"

Miranda groans, laughing self-depreciatingly. "Ugh, and here I thought we were on the same page. Don't remind me of your domestic bliss"

"We're still on the same page Miranda"

Miranda is silent for a while. "What did I do wrong?"

"That's something you have to figure out for yourself"

"It's…" She actually did have _some_ idea. "I don't know, something about secrets. It didn't make a whole lot of sense when she was talking about them"

"Try"

"What are you, my therapist?" But Miranda nevertheless complies. "She told me…something personal. And I didn't think it at the time but I think she was testing me. Told me to tell her something personal in return"

"That makes sense. When we tell others about our own vulnerabilities we seek to know theirs so that there is balance in the relationship. What did you tell her?"

"I told her that I had no real secrets"

"Oh. Well…that's bullshit"

"Obviously! I froze. I couldn't think of a good lie, all I could think about was- was-" she trails off, unsure of how to conceptualize the exact feeling she had. Thankfully Liara finishes her thought.

"Everything you're ashamed of"

"Yeah," says Miranda, not expecting Liara to be so spot-on but at the same time not all that surprised "How'd you know?"

Liara shrugs. "I just know the feeling. You decide that it's better to keep yourself closed off so that nobody knows about the choices you've made, or the thoughts you've had. You think you're protecting yourself, and maybe you are, but you always make yourself lonely. Does that sound about right?"

Miranda doesn't respond.

Liara smiles as Shepard walks back into the room with several juice boxes in hand. She goes on: "But I learned that if you have the right person, it's never about if they'll forgive you or not, it's about when you'll let them"

Miranda groans at the overwhelming cheesiness.

Shepard smiles in confusion, dropping the juice boxes unceremoniously on the divan. "Wasn't sure what flavor you wanted so I just brought all of them." She kisses Liara on the cheek. "What were you guys talking about?"

Miranda absently reaches for a juice box, pondering it before getting to her feet. "I…should go"

"What? You just got here." Shepard turns to Liara. "What'd you tell her?"

Liara caresses Shepard's cheek. "Something she needed to hear"

* * *

The sound of insistent knocking knocks everyone in the room from their television-induced haze. Traynor, having reached the tail end of week three of her odd post-dating recovery funk, simply nods off, falling onto Shylene's lap. Said Asari looks to Jack and shrugs, apparently not too giddy about Traynor's head on her thighs to point out that she is unable to answer the doorbell. Eezo slumbers underneath the couch.

It's all the same to Jack, if the person at the door is who she hopes it is, then she has no problem with being the face to greet them. Punching the right keys, she is pleasantly surprised to find Miranda standing there, but she puts on a neutral expression nevertheless.

"Hey"

"Hey"

"Can we talk?"

Jack waits a few seconds before nodding. "Come in"

Miranda is promptly led to Jack's room, and on the way makes eye-contact with the insufferable Asari she met all that time ago at the art gallery. What animosity Miranda had for her had long petered out, and if there was any left then it was dispelled at the sight of Traynor placidly snuggled on her lap. The Asari looks happy about her situation, but nervous.

Jack's room is starkly lit, a far cry from the almost scenic environment it had been when she was nursing Jack back to health. Or perhaps it is the exact same now as it was then. It was a good memory, and she might have remembered it in a more positive light because of that.

Jack doesn't sit down. She stands, crossing her arms to give Miranda an expressionless look that nonetheless conveys her full displeasure.

Miranda isn't sure how to begin, but figures an apology is as good a place to begin as any. "I'm sorry about earlier"

A good start. "Go on"

"I'm…uh," she's so nervous she actually pulls at her collar. This isn't a situation she can solve with a stern glare and a command to get over it. This requires a level of softness utterly alien to her constitution. "About the…uh, earlier, when you asked me about the secrets I keep-"

"You mean when I told you something really embarrassing about myself and you acted like an ass?"

"What? I didn-" She schools her expression. "Yeah, I suppose so." She really should have prepared for this better. "That was wrong of me. I wish that- I wish that I could share…more of myself…more easily. But that's hard for me, so I always end up keeping everything inside…" She really wants to sit down, but it doesn't look like Jack would take kindly to that.

_Why is it so hard to words?_

"And?"

"And I'm sorry if you-" _No, don't say that. It's going to make you sound like you blame her_. "I…have been keeping things from you. And I think that is why you are angry with me…" _What kind of shitty apology is that!? _"And…I…you…I…"

_Clearly this isn't working._

Miranda shuffles uncomfortably. Time to make this easier on herself. She inhales tightly.

"I…often have thoughts about how I'm better than everyone around me. I…" She searches for something else to say, "…don't like it when my sister plays with my hair, but I let her do it anyway. I hate her boyfriend; it's not his fault, but I'm pretty sure they have sex, so I hate him." The emotions come out freely, ideas long suppressed flow with abandon. "I have a basement in my apartment where I experiment on husk parts. It's highly illegal, but it's my hobby. I see a therapist every week to talk about the war, and sometimes my father. I have a lot of emotional scars because of my father. I can't remember a time in my life where I wasn't at least a little depressed; about my creation or the loneliness I've felt for so many years, there has always been a reason for it. I know I'm much better off than most people, but I can't help feeling unhappy."

She shakes her head, almost as if she is learning all this for the first time because she never gave voice to her own inner turmoil. "But now I have you, and I actually am happy. For more than an hour at a time. Which is why I'm _always_ so afraid that I'll do something to push you away, which is why I've been so reticent, because for once it seems like I'm doing a relationship the right way." Her eloquence has escaped her, but that's okay because she knows that she's saying all the right things. "And so…despite everything, clearly this wasn't a mistake, so…" she pauses, "I'm sorry about earlier. Truly. Forgive me? Please?"

Jack waits a moment. Hours seem to pass until a cheeky half-smile ghosts her lips

"Jesus Cheerleader, all I wanted was an apology. Not a full-blown confession"

Miranda takes this as a sign that it's okay to reach out to her girlfriend. Jack takes her hand and pulls her gently closer. Miranda's thumbs the edge of Jack's biceps before hesitantly bringing her in for a hug. But Jack abruptly falls to her knees.

"Jack!"

The other woman is fine, but her whole body seems to have sagged from relief. "I wasn't sure you'd come after me," she admits.

Miranda gets the message and kneels down beside her. How hard must it have been for Jack to stick to her guns on this one? For someone so used to abandonment, walking away from Miranda was a very calculated risk. Miranda smiles. It seems like Jack is finally getting the message that she would always be welcome in Miranda's life.

But Miranda doesn't articulate this. All she says is, "I'm sorry." She doesn't even flinch when Jack sucker-punches her in the arm.

"I was really _fucking_…ugh!" Scared.

"I know. I'm sorry"

"Fuck. You'd better be"

"I'm really, really sorry"

"Gah," Jack contorts her face to fight back the moisture collecting at her eyes. "I've gone soft. I never used to cry this easily. Or ever." At least they're tears of relief this time.

"I'm glad I have that effect on you." Miranda gets a few embarrassed arm punches for that. But she's ready this time, and flexes at the right moments. She smiles in that way people do when they should be in pain, but aren't. "Better?"

"Be more honest with me from now on"

"I will"

"You'd fucking better"

Miranda kisses her in answer. Jack acquiesces, leaning forward into the kiss. She abruptly breaks into a relieved laugh and Miranda is kissing teeth. "What?" asks Miranda, surprised, but laughing a little herself.

Jack leans in for another kiss, but apparently the laughing was infectious because they can't seem to stop, and their kissing becomes sloppy and awkward. But they're laughing too much to care.

"I'm glad," says Jack in between chuckles, "that you're as bad at this as I am"

Whether she means kissing or relationships, its Jack's turn to get sucker-punched in the arm. Losing face wasn't so bad, not if equal footing was the end result. As Jack laughs at the meager attempts to bruise her bicep, Miranda feels herself becoming lighter and lighter. No matter what lies ahead, the future looks good indeed.

* * *

Author's note: This was a fairly fluffy fic to begin with, but I hope I didn't go overboard on this chapter. We might be almost done here. Maybe a bit more turbulence.


	15. Minor Time Skip

There was no third date, or at least no time in the days subsequent to the second date that could be adequately called a third date. Going on dates is a nice concept, but much too conventional for either of them, and forcing themselves to be conventional is more stressful than either had imagined. It is performance, and two people who know as much about each other as Jack and Miranda do don't need performance to be together.

No, there aren't really anymore dates in the strict definition of the word, but they do spend more time with each other. Miranda regularly pulls up in her car to see Jack for lunch every day, and Jack is becoming a regular fixture in Miranda's palatial apartment.

It's freeing. Miranda doesn't know why she didn't do it sooner. Being so open with another person makes her feel unbelievably happy. True, she is wary at times. Vulnerability has never been comfortable for her. But when she looks in Jack's eyes, so full of trust and no small measure of her own vulnerability, she knows it's worth the risk. Could Jack hurt her? Indubitably so. She could hurt Jack too. Mutually-ensured destruction really. There's something beautiful about that. It's a wonder they aren't one f those couples that is constantly on the brink of collapse.

Everything in her relationship with Jack is a calculated risk; the odds haven't always been good, but they are now. She hopes that they'll stay that way.

"What are you even doing?"

Miranda smiles at the comic exasperation in Jack's tone. "You're up late

"Didn't think I'd wake up alone in the middle of the night. It was…weird. I must be getting used to you."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you"

Arms circle Miranda's waist. "S'alright. I was never a great sleeper anyway. But seriously, what are you doing? Is this work? Because if it is-"

"Don't worry, it's not"

Jack peers curiously at the assorted diagrams hovering on Miranda's great holo-monitor. "Is this your weird husk thing?"

Miranda shakes her head. "No. This is a different hobby"

"You forgot to mention this. Still holding out on me, eh?"

"What!? N-no, I-"

"Oh my god, relax. I'm messing with you. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. Looks boring anyway"

Miranda huffs in a way only she can; dignified and condescending. "This is not boring. These are my designs from the Lazarus project"

"That thing you did to bring Shepard back to life?"

"It wasn't just a _thing_," replies Miranda, indignant, "this is the result of one hundred brilliant minds distilled into one magnificent brainchild! The culmination of-!" She doesn't continue as Jack grabs her hair and yanks her into a passionate kiss.

"You're so hot when you get all angry over science"

Their eyes meet. A tainted moment of intent crashes iceberg-like into the air between them.

"Yeah?"

The moment sobers them both, before it intensifies. Miranda smirks, turning in her swivel chair and roughly pulling Jack close, kissing her. The monitors forgotten, she pours all of herself in this moment. Jack yields, letting Miranda adore her body, becoming pliant to Miranda's increasingly dominating touch. Miranda kisses her lips down Jack's tattooed neck until she arrives at the delicately-curved base, and _bites_.

Affection need not be gentle. Jack and Miranda are gentle with each other most of the time, exchanging soft touches and shy glances that that have their friends gagging in mock repulsion. But behind closed doors they discovered a mutual savagery that took them both by surprise. Sex was a tricky subject for them. Like a virgin couple they danced around the subject until taking the next step felt natural. The iron was always hot; they just had to strike it at the right time.

The first steps in making love were as tentative as they would be with a new couple. It was exploratory, vanilla, and escalated with such disarming rapidity that after their first night together Miranda came away with scratches on her back, and more sore muscles than she ever remembered having. Jack had several bite marks, and was light-headed for most of the next day. They were both giddy to go at it again.

Honest communication helped here, but so too did their ever-strangely complimentary personalities. They had gotten to know each through hate, and then friendship, and then something close to love; and it had made them sensitive to each other's desires and limits.

Right now Jack gasps. Her eyes close and she bites her lower lip. She enjoys the way Miranda's teeth sink into the sensitive point between neck and shoulder. Manicured hands feel their way around her waist, submerging beneath the cotton of her t-shirt and skirting the elastic of her underwear. Her skin is an almost feverish hot, but tempered with a thin sheen of sweat. She peels off her shirt.

"What about your Lazarus thingy? She asks shakily, jokingly. She know Miranda hates when she describes her work so offhandedly. To call the Lazarus Project a "thingy is blasphemous.

"That can wait," growls Miranda.

No more talk. Miranda carries her to the kitchen island and scatters everything away with a biotic pulse. She lays Jack on the surface, almost reverently, as ancient priests might lay a a virgin sacrifice on an altar. Jack surrenders control, relishing her body's reaction to Miranda's touch, and anticipating the reciprocation soon to come.

* * *

Daylight floods the Lawson apartment. Overlooking the stirring Presidium, Jack stretches out the aches that have accumulated over the night, and watches the early morning traffic whiz by Miranda's ridiculously large windows. She has awoken only a few minutes ago, alone, and has ventured out into the apartment proper.

Before looking for Miranda she helps herself to an expensive-looking mini-bottle of fruit juice. She's never hungry for solid foods in the mornings. Years of consuming nutrient supplements to replenish her dark energy reserves have made sure of that.

She knows where Miranda is. It isn't hard to guess. You can distract her from her projects momentarily, but as soon as the distraction is over she is gets right back on the horse. Miranda's single-mindedness is both annoying and horribly endearing; like watching a puppy plod after its master only to be momentarily sidetracked by a squirrel.

Jack chuckles to herself. If she is a squirrel then she is a very sexy, badass squirrel. She then admonishes herself on her inability to make appropriate metaphors. She should leave the clever stuff like that to Miranda, and speaking of…

Miranda is once again plopped on the swivel chair in her office, overlooking her notes from the Lazarus Project. Jack doesn't bother to announce herself this time.

"Shepard know you have this here?"

Miranda tilts her head to acknowledge Jack's presence without really turning around. "Good morning to you too. And no, I doubt she does. It's not illegal. This is all from the Alliance Archives. They seized it after we took out the Cerberus base"

"You never told me what you were doing with it"

Miranda tsks in faux annoyance. "You didn't exactly give me the opportunity to explain did you?"

There is a hint of amusement in her question. Jack looks down at Miranda, surveying her handiwork. No scratches this time, but plenty of hickeys. Underneath Miranda's robe there are a few spank-marks as well. A night well-spent.

Miranda spots her gaze, her lascivious grin. "Oh no you don't. I don't have the energy right now"

"What?" Jack is all smiles, "You don't know what I was thinking"

"Like hell I don't"

Jack leans back and casts a wistful sigh. "Oh fine. Leave me for your insidious plots. I'll just be back home, waiting for the next booty call. Such is my lot in life- gah!" Jack yelps as Miranda pinches her. Rather than take offense she smiles. "I thought you weren't in the mood anymore"

Miranda sighs, smiling wearily. "I'm always in the mood for you. But let's just…not right now, alright Come on," she gestures for Jack to sit on her lap, "let me tell you about what I'm doing. Please?"

Depending on the situation that pleading tone can mean any number of things, right now it means "put away your lady-boner." Jack rolls her eyes and takes her seat. It had taken a lot of work for Miranda to finally get Jack to sit on her lap.

"Alright. Tell me all about how you're perverting nature"

"You're funny. Pay attention"

Jack quiets down, if only for the pleasure of listening to Miranda talk; the soft vibration against her back. Most of the actual science goes over her head. She just knows that Miranda appreciates having someone to listen while she rattles off ideas.

"Fascinating"

"You don't mean that, but thanks for indulging me." She keeps staring at the screen with the intent of a person borderline obsessed. Jack smiles fondly before climbing off.

"This has been fun, but I have a class to teach in an hour"

"What?" That knocks Miranda from her reverie. "Shit. I completely forgot"

"It's cool. I can see you tonight"

Miranda looks nonetheless dejected. "For some reason I got it into my head that we would spend the day together"

But it's a moot point. There is their life here, and then there is the real world, and the real world demands Jack's attention. It isn't lie Miranda can't sympathize, she just has much greater control of her hours.

Jack retreats into the bedroom where her overnight bag is, though it's more of a military pack than anything. Jack had become a lot more ordered after her extensive service in the Alliance. Miranda follows, frowning after her. "I don't know why you don't just use one of the drawers. Hell, have a whole cabinet if you want"

"I don't have a lot of things. Wouldn't be much to put in there"

"I just don't want you to feel uncomfortable in my home"

"What makes you think I'm not comfortable? I'm naked half the time I'm here"

"I worry about stuff like this okay? I dote. I'm a doter. There I've said it. Are you happy now? You've made me embarrassed"

Jack emerges from the room in her regulation Alliance greaves. It makes for a more professional show with the students. The brass in charge of the Alliance programs at the University actually appreciate how she presents a more _unique_ image of such a straight-laced institution. Sure, lots of marines have tattoos, but none have as many as Jack. And they are rarely so elaborate.

"You don't have to worry about a thing," says Jack, pressing her palm to Miranda's cheek. "I love it here"

It sounds so much like "I love you" that Miranda almost says it herself. But she bites her tongue.

"I'll see you after work"

All that gets from Miranda is a nod. They don't even kiss goodbye.

* * *

Well if Jack is going into work then Miranda may as well too. Isn't this supposed to be a honeymoon period? What happened to that? Why are they both still dancing around each other like hesitant teenagers?

Miranda sighs for the umpteenth time.

The work of a CEO is, potentially, extremely stressful. Especially for a micro-manager like Miranda there are always about twelve things at once that need doing. This is why she hired two young Vorcha assistants, and acclimated them to the kind of work she had now. In under a year they had become so capable that they could, if they were not so fiercely loyal, wrest control of Alkahest Wetware from Miranda's hands.

Of course this doesn't dissuade her from work either; it just means there are other things in the business she can keep her eye on. Today however there is enough on her mind that sitting idly at her desk while twirling a pen biotically in mid-air feels warranted. Her mind is segmented into parts that think about different things:

First there is the current diversion of the Lazarus cost-efficiency project. Ideas for that in particular stew hard in her brain juices. The emotional component is fixated on Jack; what Jack is doing right now, how she's feeling, how savage she was last night, and how beautiful she was in the morning. If maybe Jack would be open to moving in with her, but no, she values her friendship with Traynor too much to even consider…or maybe she would…

No, better not. Not while neither of them has said "I love you" yet. That's a thing right? It's not like it isn't true on Miranda's end. Okay, that settles it. After they both say "I love you," then Miranda will ask.

The matter settled, that portion of her brain opens up for consideration of the Lazarus cost-efficiency project. A small but significant third portion is focused on work, but really the enterprise really just sort of runs itself. Maybe an early retirement is in order?

Nah.

Shriven sidles up to the desk, almost out of nowhere. "Tea or coffee, Director?"

"Tea. Apple if we have it." They have it. A steaming teacup on a coaster is laid instantly and gently on the desk. The vorchas assistants' ability to predict her desires has become almost scary. "Thank you. What do we have for today?"

Shriven frowns in a way only Vorcha can. It is horrifying, but Miranda regards it mildly. "Were several meetings planned. Remember scheduling them myself. But your agenda is…someone has changed it." Her assistant's voice carries an uncharacteristic quaver.

"It wasn't you or Bith?"

"No, Director"

Miranda sighs, "Let me see your omni-tool"

Shriven complies without question. She holds out her wrist for Miranda to inspect., the omni-tool flashing into existence. Miranda turns her assistant's hand this way and that before removing the interface that keeps it there. Once off, she runs a diagnostic.

"Someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to hack into this"

Shriven is aghast. "My apologies! I-"

"Don't worry. Whoever did it must have spent a lot of money to stay undetected." The agenda reads only one meeting for the entire day with "Henry Lawson."

"Shall I change it?"

Miranda voice is cold. "No, this is fine. I'll take the meeting. Bith can take care of whatever was displaced"

"Yes director"

"You'll be with me for this. Make sure to look intimidating. Not too menacing, but enough to send a message"

Shriven smiles like only a Vorcha can. "Yes director"

Miranda drums her fingers against the desk, contemplating the name on her schedule. It isn't often she thinks about her dead father, a victory in itself. But someone is intent on spooking her, or at least getting a reaction. Someone has poor taste.

An hour later a man in a plain black suit is admitted into her office. His professionalism says "mercenary," but the way he takes in every detail of the room with a few glances screams "assassin." He is tall, but otherwise is completely unremarkable.

She casts him a dubious glance. Holding up a hand in placation, he remains standing and slowly reaches into his pocket to take out a holodisk. He bends down to put it on the floor, and then steps away. In an instant a life-size 3-D image of a stately Asian man fizzles into existence.

"Miss Lawson," he says in a startlingly deep voice, clear even through the typically poor connection associated with run-of-the-mill holo-projectors.

"Mr. Song," she says, recognizing him instantly. "How unusual to see you out of the Terminus systems." She hints in her tone that she is interested in what he has to say, but has no patience for games. The ice-queen is back in full force. "I did not appreciate your little joke"

He laughs. "How else could I have gotten a meeting with the great Miranda Lawson?"

It's true. Useless meetings with an arms dealer like Song aren't usually in her interest to schedule. Song isn't someone she wants to do business with and he knows it. But he is undeniably powerful, probably more so than her, and any interest he has in her is never good news.

"I only have so much time, Mr. Song"

"Yes of course. Down to business." He clears his throat. "My little joke, as you called it, I thought it would be the perfect segue for this conversation. Your father was a brilliant man. His ethics were undoubtedly questionable, but one could never argue that he didn't do great things"

"Accomplishments can be great as well as evil, Mr. Song"

"Yes, true, of course, of course. But I must admire his vision. Why, you yourself are a product of his talents"

Miranda narrows her eyes. The secret of her origin isn't exactly public knowledge. "Henry Lawson was good at finding the people and resources necessary to make his whims a reality. His actual scientific acumen was minimal at best"

"Perhaps. But his projects were wide in scope"

Her patience draws thin. "When an arms dealer comes into my office to talk about my father's work I can only assume he is interested in some kind of weapon. Something my father made, I assume?" Miranda rolls her eyes. "Which one catches your interest? The trans-system missile? The mass-relay-propelled bomb? Everything he's produced is, by now, obsolete"

"You neglected to mention his work in conditioning the perfect biotic human"

"I am hardly perfect"

"No. But your friend is." Miranda narrows her eyes. To his credit, Song does not smile, like many of his contemporaries would. He goes on as if he hadn't said anything. "I'm surprised you don't know. It was by far his most successful work, though he ended up selling the technique before I could get my hands on it. To Cerberus I believe"

Miranda's mind races while her expression remains neutral. Is it possible? Could the research at the Teltin facility be inspired by Henry Lawson's own theories? It would make sense, especially considering the fact that Miranda's biotic superiority could be an offshoot of that work.

Still, too many assumptions. No evidence. Song is either trying to unbalance her, or is probing for information.

She smiles an edged, plastic smile. "As interesting as that is, it is of little importance to me"

"I think you know more than you let on"

"This conversation is going nowhere." She looks at the man who brought in the holodisk. "Leave. Now. I won't need security to make you"

"You misunderstand Ms. Lawson, this isn't a meeting," says Song, "it is a hostage situation," the man quickly levels a gun at Shriven and fires three times, the Vorcha goes down. "As well as an interrogation"

Was that supposed to be intimidating?

In a flash the man is pushed violently away with biotics. Rather than crash bodily into the wall, he angles his impact to land on his hands and feet, and elegantly launches right back off, shooting at her arms and legs in mid-air. Miranda's barrier appears instantaneously, shirking off the damage. Pulling out her own pistol, she fires at the cyberneticaly-enhanced man. He dodges every time, jumping and weaving closer and closer to her until-

Miranda readies herself for a charge and in an instant her hand both impacts and constricts around his neck, catching him in mid-air and slamming him bodily to the ground. Before he can react her pistol finds its way to his forehead and fires once. He immediately stills.

The holodisk, still active, displays a disappointed-looking Song. "I wish you could have made this easier on yourself Ms. Lawson. You should know better than to expect just a single agent"

She wants to crush the stupid thing but doesn't, opting to flash freeze it with her omni-tool. She looks back at her desk. "Shriven? Are you alright?"

The Vorcha is already climbing to her feet, wounds knitting themselves better with the usual alarming speed. Rounds are regurgitated from her skin as she brandishes a new omnitool, luminescent orange claws extending out of it. 'Will be ready for next one," she says.

A quick review of her security system reveals that It has indeed been tampered with, but not enough that the drastically advanced computers are compromised. Within seconds the Alkahest Wetware VI is telling her about every armed and suspicious presence in the building. There are four right outside her office.

"Let's go," she tells Shriven, sending her assistant the data. The Vorcha nods grimly, activating a fortification barrier and barreling through the doors. Taken by surprise, all four agents are close enough together that Shriven's first swipes are too quick to dodge. They all go for their weapons, but two of them are cut down. The other two jump back, raining ineffectual bullets on Shriven's barrier. Without sustained fire they bounce off easily. The remaining agents are immediately caught in a singularity and quickly dispatched with well-placed shots to the head.

The power promptly goes out, only to be immediately back on by the building's security system.

"Sloppy," remarks Miranda. Mercenaries that can't compromise as corporate security system aren't worth the bullets she shoots at them.

An explosion shakes the floors. Okay, maybe they're worth something after all.

* * *

Jack has a doctorate in the study of biotic theory and application. Not many people know this about her, and barely anyone would assume that it was true, but it is. It was something she understood on a very intimate level, and taking the classes to write a dissertation was much easier than anyone told her to expect it to be. She is, therefore, the foremost academic authority on developmental biotics with a focus on children and young adults.

But there are still certain biotic phenomena that baffle even her.

"Jenkins…how the _fuck_," she enunciates the word, despite usually being self-conscious about cursing in front of students, "are you doing that?"

Jenkins shrugs his shoulders, unable to answer. His entire head is enveloped in several layers of biotic barrier, giving him something of a globe-head. He looks like the cover of a classic rock album.

"How is he even breathing professor?"

"I don't know Shan. I honest to fucking god don't know"

Jenkins shrugs once again, thinking someone has addressed him. He must be hearing nothing but muffles in there. Fortunately after thirty seconds the effect dissipates and he seems just fine.

'Biotic barriers 200' is a class every biotic must take at some point in their lives, and many take it more than once. It is an easy skill to learn, but difficult to master, and lots of kids struggle with it in the beginning. Jack knows a number of techniques to help such cases, but none of them seem to work in the curious case of Bobby Jenkins. She observes him to the side while the other students practice by shooting pellets at one another's barriers.

"I don't know how I'm doing it prof"

She swaps out his implant with a dampener model. "Try it now." He concentrates, but the barrier once again envelops his head. "Son of a bitch"

"What?" He yells, unable to quite hear her under the globe barrier.

She doesn't answer him, focused on taking a quick scan of his brain. Nothing noticeably different. By all appearances he seems to be doing it wrong just because he refuses to do it right. But no, Jenkins is an earnest kid. Kinda dopey, but not outright stupid. This will bear further thought. For now however, she dismisses him and tells his partner to shoot for the head. All the students stop what they're doing to watch, giggling as the pellets bounce uselessly off of Jenkin's massive globe-shield.

After class is over the usual die-hard students stay behind to perfect their technique. These are the kids who realize the value of Jack's tutelage, the ones who actually looked up the few papers she actually wrote and sought her out specifically. They will go on to make a career out of their biotic gifts. Jack always stays behind for an hour to supervise their activities, mostly because sometimes people get hurt if they aren't careful, especially when it comes to biotics.

But the rest of the time she stays behind for a reason even she thought unlikely.

"Hey professor"

She turns. There's Jenkins, wearing that same expression she's seen in so many students before him. She was expecting this. That vulnerability in the eyes; the dejected tilt of the head; slumped shoulders; Jack isn't sure why the kids keep coming to her with their personal problems, but they do it at an alarming rate. Maybe it's the tattoos that make her seem much more open-minded than her fellow faculty members. Maybe it's the way she slips up every now and then to drop an f-bomb. Whatever it is, it's the reason why more often than not, one of her many students always approaches her after class to talk about personal problems. It had started happening so often that last year her boss discreetly asked her to get a counseling certificate.

"'Sup Jenkins," she says with typical friendly wryness.

He looks this way and that, worried, as most students are, of being overheard. "It's…uh…"

"Private? Sorry but I have to be watching everybody right now. If you can wait an hour we can go back to my office"

"O-oh, no, uh, I wouldn't want to-"

Jenkins is a particular kind of introvert that hates to overstep boundaries, either real or imagined. Jack can relate and hurries to reassure him. "Don't worry. S'no trouble. I have a noise jammer if that's okay. Anyone farther than two meters away won't be able to hear us." Her office is full of such hardware.

He hesitates before nodding, taking a seat when jack pulls over a chair with biotics.

"So, what did you want to talk about?"

"I…" he collects himself. Probably been wondering all day how he would get the words right. "I don't… think I belong here." He looks surprised at his own admission; it's probably not what he meant to say, even if it is how he feels.

"Why do you say that?"

He takes a deep breath. "I'm struggling in class. Everyone is better than me and I just…can't get my biotics to work right. I've been trying, like, really hard to catch up"

"You aren't the first student to have those problems. We can work out a program and diet to get you out of your funk"

"I've tried that. It doesn't help. And even then I can't explain the…anomalies. Like today. I don't even know how I'm doing that"

He has her there. "Yeah, we're working on figuring that out. But if worse comes to worse, all we would have to do is make you a custom amp"

He shakes his head. "I don't know. Maybe it's not even worth it to try. I mean, I don't even feel like I fit in around here. Everyone's just so...advanced. On a different level"

Ah. He's one of those. He thinks he's already made a decision to quit, and only came to Jack to have someone confirm it for him because he's too scared to walk himself off the plank.

Okay, change of plan: "Didn't you say you wanted to be an Alliance adept? You can't be one unless you master this course"

"I've been thinking about that…maybe I'm not meant to…" he trails off, shrugging.

Jack has seen his grades. He's a good marksman, and his athletics are up to stuff. His academic grades lag somewhat but nothing that can't be made up.

"You're not meant to what?"

"Huh?"

"Finish that thought. I'm not going to do it for you"

He sort of cringes in silence. He can't do it.

"That's what I thought"

He's said everything he thought he would have to say. He remains silent, no words occurring to him.

"Like I said, we can work around any problems you have. Usually when weirdness like yours comes up we can fix it with a different amp. But it sounds to me like you just want to give up"

He fiddles a bit.

"How's school going?"

'It's alright"

"Seriously? You can be honest. I won't judge you or anything"

He's silent for a while. Jack is patient, turning a casual gaze to the other students. "It's…"  
she turns back, "not that great for me"

"Yeah? How?"

"I'm not…like the other guys. I can't relate to them at all"

"Everyone has those kinds of hang-ups in college. It's normal. And though it may not seem that way, you don't have to be like everybody else. There isn't a personality criteria for getting higher education"

"I just want to feel like I belong. And here I just …I don't feel that most of the time"

Jack sighs. "It says here you have a full scholarship. If that doesn't tell you that you belong here then I don't know what will. Maybe you can't be like the other students. Maybe you're just fundamentally different. I don't know. But that should be okay. Seriously. There's nothing wrong with that. If being yourself makes you feel inadequate then just fake being adequate"

"What?"

"Look, I could walk you through this shit; analyze your deep-rooted feelings and whatever. But I'm not a therapist. So I'll tell you straight: fake it. Seriously. Fake it. Pretend that you belong here and eventually you will"

"That…doesn't make sense"

"It's a psychological thing. Look, you've got self-esteem issues. I get that. I used to be like that. Still am, most days. But that doesn't mean you have to change yourself to be like everybody else. Just," Jack laughs, "I now this sounds strange, but there's all kinds of science to back me up. But seriously, if your only problem is that you think you're not good enough for this program, then just pretend that you are, and you will be. Like with your current problem, you don't think it's worth the effort to get an amp to fix your problem because you've already decided to quit. All you have to do is convince yourself that it is worth the effort and you'll be golden"

He smiles, if only because he thinks she sounds absurd. It's self-depreciating. "That doesn't seem realistic"

"It's not. Obviously it doesn't work like that in real life, but this is a way to get over a mental block. You're a capable student Jenkins. You have to believe that. I've seen your record. You're solid. Don't let doubt get in your way"

He looks at the other students diligently practicing. "I should probably go," he mumbles. He says it to himself, but loud enough for Jack to hear. Before she can stop him he gets up, a little shaky, and promptly leaves, almost tripping on a desk leg. A slight fizzing sound follows him as he crosses the sound-dampening field.

Well, that went well. Her advice probably wasn't the easiest thing to hear. He wants an easy way out; someone to tell him that, yes, he is inadequate and he should go find something easier to do. She isn't giving him that.

A while later she watches as the last of the stay-behind students trail out the door. They stayed a little longer this time around. Her little talk with Jenkins weighed sourly on her mind, distracting her to no end. Thankfully her class is competent enough now not to need particularly strident supervision.

At the end of the day her only comfort was the thought of Miranda waiting for her at home. That'll be a pleasant pick-me-up.

She pauses a bit on her way out the door. When had she started thinking of that place as home? Does Miranda think that way? Jack wonders what it would be like to live with her. Falling asleep with Miranda in her arms every night, waking up with her in the morning; seeing Miranda at home at the end of every day, kissing her whenever she felt like it; it almost hurt too much to consider.

What would Shylene think? What would Sam think? She hadn't thought of Sam. If she moved out, then Sam would be lonely. They wouldn't see each other as often. Could she live with that? She probably could, she is no longer as emotionally dependent as she once was.

Such thoughts occupy her mind as she walks out the building. Her thoughts on the matter are muddled; a mix of good and bad, but mostly a nervous anticipation of the future. Her train of thought swiftly breaks at the sight of several men in suits lurking there. They are standing around a black hovercar that is minimally marked by Alliance insignias. The all turn to look at her in eerie synchronicity.

"You Jack?" Asks one, a shorter man with an air of authority that tells her that he's the one in charge.

"What's this about?"

He fishes a badge out of his breast pocket, flipping it open with professional aplomb. "I'm Colonel Cartwright with Alliance Navy Intelligence. I'd look for you to come with me please"

"What's this about?"

"Please ma'am. No questions. This is matter of importance"

One of the men opens the car door while another circles around her so he's at her back. His presence behind her tickles at Jack's paranoia. She doesn't so much as step forward.

"Please ma'am," continues Cartwright, his voice assuming a more empathic tone, "I realize this must seem very strange to you, but we are only following orders here. I'm sure you can understand that"

The man behind her puts his hand to the small of her back and gently nudges her forward. Jack doesn't move, pushing him away. "You're right, it _is_ weird. Give me your ID number and I'll run it through my database. If it's legit I'll consider going with you"

"Look," he says, affably shaking his head, "my badge should be proof enough," he pulls it out again, letting her take a good long look. It isn't long enough that she can read and input the number into her database. Clearly he wasn't expecting this much resistance. Was he told that she would be stupid? "There's no need to complicate the issue"

"Yeah, no. I'm not going anywhere with you"

Suddenly the muzzle of a gun nudges painfully into her back.

"Listen 'lieutenant'," says the man behind her, his voice gravelly. He seems older, impatient; likely resentful of being put under Cartwright's command. He betrays as much in his tone. "We tried it your way. It's not working." He leans forward to speak into her ear, "Now get in the car." A needle pricks against her neck, and alert as she is she manages to shove away before it can sink in completely.

The man behind her has an injector-gun in his hand, and judging by the cotton in her neck he's managed to inject her with some of it.

There is a pregnant pause, and Jack shakily shoots Cartwright a pointed look. "Alliance Intellience, huh?"

Her barriers flare up with a sudden corona of blue light, offsetting the man with the injector gun. The gun in his other hand goes off, the projectile glancing off her barrier as she steps in close to deliver a swift kick to his knee. He drops, but he's a professional and his hands go for a grappling tackle. He is violently pushed away as her biotics flare up once more.

There's no finesse in the move, the tranquilizer spreads slowly due to her body's high tolerance for drugs, but it is very noticeably. The spread is stunted, but still noticeable. Her vision dips in and out of incoherent blurriness.

To her surprise the other men do not immediately open fire. Not Alliance, but definitely not unprofessional either, which means someone wants her brought in alive. Even through the drugs the thought makes her itchy with rage.

"Hold on Jack," yells Cartwright from behind cover. His voice sounds hazy, as if arriving from far away. "That man wasn't acting under orders. We can work this out"

"Fuck that!"

Cartwright curses. "Take her in alive! Everyone switch up your ammo!"

The faints clicks of ammo-modification let Jack know that she's surrounded. Some of them must have moved already. She hadn't noticed them do that in her stupor. Bullets pepper her barrier, chipping away at it until a few stray darts come her way; the sight of them almost makes her panic. With no time to think, she spots one shooter dart out from behind a wall and prepares a biotic charge. His bones break in several places upon impact, but surprisingly he stays upright. A biotic punch has him down in seconds. Fire from the east draws her attention and she charges again. She's gone in an instant. A second charge so soon after the first one takes them by surprise; two shooters this time, and they are knocked into disarray.

Another biotic punch downs one of them, but she has to take cover to avoid fire from the second. No sooner has she ducked behind a wall that shots from a third place suddenly have her cursing and darting out again, recharging her barriers as she does so. She stops immediately short in the bore-hole face of a shotgun. Her eyes widen.

A single savage burst drains her barriers completely.

On raw animal instinct she reacts by throwing an inordinate amount of biotic force at the gunman, tearing him off his feet and battering him against a nearby post. She considers lifting the dropped shotgun only to realize her her fingers won't clench strong enough to handle its weight.

Tired, but not spent, she drops to one knee. The approaching siren of C-sec hovercars can be heard in the distance.

"Hey"

Cartwright steps out of cover, his gun pressed against a young man's temple. To Jack's surprise its Jenkins, and he's sporting more than a few bruises.

She curses again, tasting blood on the inside of her cheek.

"Hey professor." His voice is shaky, but not panicked. Brave kid.

Cartwright jostles him, probably not to be cruel but to prove a point. "Do as I say and the kid will get out of this in one piece"

"Fuck you!"

"You know I'm not kidding. I don't want to, but I'll do it"

"Dammit," Jack mutters. Her barriers dissipate. Cartwright's arm is a blur of motion as he quickly takes the shot. A dart slams into Jack's shoulder, immediately numbing it. Cold needles spread throughout her arm, shooting through her veins. If she was sluggish before she is positively slothful now.

She hadn't planned on Cartwright acting so fast. She hobbles in place, falling against the wall to keep herself upright.

"Use your barrier!" she yells to Jenkins. Her eyelids are already heavy.

"Don't even think about it kid!" Yells Cartwright, alternating between pointing his gun and Jenkins and his Jack. "A shot at this range would kill you anyway"

Jenkins isn't cowed; he obeys Jack's order without hesitation, instantly engulfing his head in a brilliant blue globe. It catches Cartwright's gun, pulling it out of his grip and crushing his hand in its immense pressure. Jack charges him in an instant. Much too shaky to cushion her own impact, she careens into him, hurdling both of them to the floor. Her skin scrapes painfully against the pavement. She scrambles for his gun, and so does he. They struggle for it, but his handicap is worse than hers. Wresting the gun from his mangled fingers she turns over and shoots, wildly. Cartwright is too surprised to dodge, and three darts catch him in the chest and leg. The rest of the clip spills uselessly against metal and concrete.

Breathing heavy, Jack slumps to her side, counting from ten before passing out. Jenkins yells at her, as if from a distance and underwater at the same time. She smiles, or tries to. Good that the kid got out alright.

* * *

Her surroundings are not immediately apparent. She's under a blanket, on a bed. Not strapped to a table, that's probably a good sign. The lights are dim, and someone is sitting off to the side, talking on the phone. Or maybe they're talking to themselves? Jack doesn't feel qualified to guess.

"It's unlikely that Song was actually involved"

"How can you be sure?"

"Because he was spending the day with his mistress. If he presided over the raid on your building, then he was doing it while a Hanar did unspeakable things to his body. Highly unlikely"

A pause, and then a disbelieving laugh. There is relief there, as well as incredulity. "His mistress is a Hanar?"

The voice that is unmistakably Liara's laughs as well. "I don't get it either, but it happens more often than you might think"

Miranda snorts. "So we don't really know who was behind all this?"

"Not necessarily. As you said, the coordination was amateurish and disorganized. But if they had planned things a little better then you and Jack might not have escaped unscathed"

A bitter pause. "Not so unscathed"

"Mm. Yes. But Jack handled herself quite well, given the circumstances. In light of all this I have to wonder if you were really the targets at all. They knew who you were, and went after you anyway. That either speaks of incredible stupidity, or-"

"An ulterior motive?"

"Yes. I had to wonder, why would they attack you and not your sister? She is much more vulnerable after all, and lacks your particular skillset"

"I wondered that myself." Miranda's voice is cold, logical. Jack has never quite understood how she can be so calculating one minute and so warm the next, especially regarding a subject as sensitive as Oriana. "Someone is trying to manipulate me"

Jack can't hear it, but she can clearly visualize Liara nodding. "Attempting to abduct you based on your biotic augmentation, attacking Jack at her office; I believe someone was trying to make you angry"

"Angry enough that I would go after Song. Evidently they don't know me well enough to deduce that I'm not that stupid"

"Perhaps not 'stupid,' but 'emotional'"

"Either way they made the wrong move." Miranda is silent a while in that way only she can be; somehow managing to communicate a storm of thoughts without uttering a single word. It is inscrutable intimidation at its finest, without her even trying. Finally: "I will recuse myself from the investigation. I trust I can leave this matter to you?"

"If you were anyone else I would accuse you of being lazy," laughs Liara. "Of course you can, Miranda. But I must admit to some measure of surprise"

"Make no mistake, I will have my vindication. But," her voice softens, "I know I can trust you. In the meantime, I have to look to more…important things right now; my company…Oriana…" she doesn't name a third thing, though it's obvious who she means to mention. Talk of relationships is all well and good in private, but among others the ice queen can still be awkward.

Liara understands perfectly. "Understood. I will see you in the morning. Jane will insist on stopping by, by the way"

A sigh, "That woman is an insufferable mother hen"

"An apt comparison. Perhaps she will have a stern talking-to with Jack about how she ought to 'treat you right'"

Miranda chortles before cutting the connection.

A series of clicks. The sound of fingertips brushing over holographic keys. The sound of footsteps softly making their way to the bedside. The press of lips against her forehead. There's even the slight musk of a woman that hasn't showered in a while. If she could manage her muscles to do so, Jack would smile. But even immobile, she feels more safe and secure than if she were in her own apartment with a shotgun pointed at the door.

A warm presence disturbs the balance of the bed as Miranda settles in next to her. She really does stink, not that Jack would ever tell her that (Miranda would only insist that her BO smells of lavender ad tulips). It's not like she minds. With her lover's body pressed loosely against her, Jack sinks blissfully back into unconsciousness, enjoying the warmth, softness, and yes, even the stench, of the woman she loves, pressed against her back. Those boobs are unmistakable.

* * *

Jack wakes up in an unfamiliar room. Light peeks in from behind unfamiliar burgundy curtains, faintly illuminating an unfamiliar space with an unfamiliar desk fastened to one side, and endless shelves lining the walls. There are pictures there, as well as miscellaneous odds and ends ranging from cheap toys to quality figurines.

Oh…not so unfamiliar. Jack has been here before. Maybe a month prior she peaked in for a few seconds the first time she stayed over at Miranda's apartment. She had quickly lost interest in what was apparently storage for old knick-knacks. Now she remembers seeing them, outlined in the faint darkness just as they are now. There's something nostalgic about them, though why that is Jack isn't sure.

There are several layers blankets, heavy on her body. Underneath she realizes that she is naked. She pushes away the covers, swinging her legs over the side of the bed as cold air clings to her body. Goosebumps cobble the surface of her skin as she adjusts to the temperature. She shivers a little bit, feverish, hazy, before getting to her feet.

Her legs give out almost immediately, and with a cry of surprise she falls to her knees. A pinching sensation stings her arm. There's an IV interface attached to it. Groggily Jack disables it and pulls it off, a small amount of Medi-gel automatically covers the prick. She stumbles over to the dresser and, after yanking open one too many drawers, finds a t-shirt and a pair of short-shorts. It is an effort to put them on.

Stepping out the door, her suspicions are confirmed. It is Miranda's apartment, and what's more it is already the middle of the day, meaning she has been asleep for over twelve hours. Part of her panics, wondering who's covering her classes. The university doesn't always find the best substitutes after all, and her kids can be difficult to handle. But as a wave of fatigue washes over her, she can't be bothered to worry; someone probably sorted it all out.

She makes her way to the grand foyer, where the living room set overlooks one of the apartment's many large windows. "Miranda!" she calls, "Miri!" But no answer. Must not be home.

She's too tired. Grabbing the throw blanket, she tumbles over the back of the couch, wrapping herself up and falling easily back to sleep.

When she opens her eyes again it's nighttime. Her limbs are still a little bit numb, but feeling has restored much more.

The citadel is brilliant in the apparent darkness, like Hong Kong or Illium, only the lights come from all directions, as if from cities suspended upside down. The lights in the apartment are off but for a single lamp that stands next to a nearby sofa. Miranda, wrapped in a shawl and looking intently at a datapad, is illuminated beautifully in its light.

"Hey." The word scratches Jack's throat and she swallows. Miranda almost drops her datapad, stowing it in between cushions before rushing over.

"Easy, easy," She stops Jack form getting up too quickly and supports her back, rubbing her hand comfortingly over the t-shirt. As Jack manages a weak sit, Miranda grabs a glass of water that must have been sitting there for a while now, and tips it gently to facilitate drinking.

Jack almost chortles up the water in between laughs. "I'm not a child you know." She takes the cup in her hands, feebly wresting them from Miranda's own.

"The tranquilizer they used was very powerful. You've been asleep for the better part of day"

"Shouldn't I be in a hospital or something?" Not that Miranda's apartment isn't immensely preferable.

"I'm a doctor, and you're my girlfriend. Of course I would bring you here." Miranda's eyes soften. "How are you feeling?"

"Still kinda numb," she grunts as she backs up on the couch so her back is supported by something other than Miranda's arm. "What was it they used? It was good stuff. Does it have a street name?"

Miranda smiles humorlessly. "I don't know about that, but in the medical profession we call it a Krogan tranquilizer. If you were a normal human you would have been lucky to be alive"

"Good thing I'm a freak then, huh?" She rests her hand on Miranda's thigh. "And I'm lucky my girlfriend's a freak too." They are silent for a while until Jack once again breaks the silence. "I'm glad you were here for me," she says.

"Samantha and your Asari friend were in here earlier. They made themselves at home for about five hours before finally leaving"

Jack laughs at that. "Sam was probably freaking out"

"Give her some credit. She's used to this sort of thing"

Considering she was Shepard's crew, yeah, that isn't hard to believe. She resolves to visit as soon as she can. She's been getting more and more distant with the woman she calls her best friend. But isn't that life? Or is Jack messing something up yet again?

Best not to worry about it now. It's easy to do with the drugs lingering in her system. "Who were they?" She asks, referring to the men who attacked her.

Miranda catches her meaning immediately. "Mercenaries. Mercenaries, as it turns out, with very loose ties to the people who actually orchestrated the whole thing"

"So we don't know anything?"

"Liara's working on it"

Jack's jaw tightens. "I'll kill them all when she finds them"

"You're off to a good start. Only two of your attackers actually survived"

"It's been a while since I got to kill something." Jack tries to get up, more out of agitation than anything, only for Miranda to push her back down. "Oof!"

"What you'll do right now is sit down and let me take care of you. Stay here while I get you something to eat," she gets up and walks to the kitchen. And because it's Miranda bidding her to wait, Jack obeys, though she sinks against the cushions more than a little surly. A dull headache begins to set in.

"Here, eat." Miranda sets some soup on the low coffee table, putting some pills to the side. "Swallow these when you're done"

"Yes ma'am." Jack delivers a shaky spoonful of soup to her lips. "Heh"

"What's so funny?"

"This reminds me of the time right before we started dating. You took care of me once; brought me soup just like this. You remember?"

Miranda smiles. "Of course, you had a cold"

"I always felt a little guilty about it, but I wasn't actually, y'know, sick. I just wanted to skip work." Her eyes widen in remembrance and she drops her spoon. "Oh shit, work! What time is it? I have to work in the morning"

Miranda once again pushes her down. "No, you don't. I took care of everything. You are officially on paid vacation"

"Really?"

Miranda takes up the spoon. "Really. So don't worry about it." Dipping the spoon into the steaming broth she carefully brings a bit to Jack's lips. "As for your earlier comment, I knew you weren't sick," she says with a playful lilt, "I just wanted to spoil you." She punctuates this by feeding Jack another spoonful. "I know that you can take care of yourself. I know that. But you really scared me there"

"What, are you kidding? You know I'm solid"

Miranda grins at the silly colloquialism, but the grin doesn't last long. "I know. But…after getting you to come so far with me, I would just hate it if some clandestine organization ruined all my hard work by taking you out." It's a joke, but damp eyes accompany it.

Jack chuckles. "I'm your special project huh?" She spots the tears threatening at Miranda's eyes, her voice taking a turn for the almost uncharacteristically gentle. "Hey, you know I wouldn't going anywhere."

Jack's heartbeat thuds heavily against inside of her chest like a cast-iron metronome, as if trying to slow down time and yet speeding it up and the same time. One heartbeat, then two; it carries her forward with the unstoppable lurch of a freight-train. "Fuck," she muffles, her throat dry despite the soup trickling down it, "I couldn't go anywhere. I think I love you"

The words take Miranda completely by surprise. She drops the soup. The scalding liquid pours all over Jack's legs, eliciting a sharp yelp of pain.

"Oh god! I'm sorry!" Yells Miranda, likely more contrite than anyone has ever heard her. She is not a woman to show regrets.

"Gaaaah! Fuck! It fffucking burns!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Unsure of what to do, Miranda scrambles into the kitchen for a wet washcloth while Jack shimmies uselessly out of her shorts, only to curse when she hasn't got anything underneath and pull them back up.

Miranda returns with the washcloth, dabbing at the tender thighs until they attain some semblance of room temperature. It helps, and both women find it in themselves to calm down just a little bit. Their eyes meet for a few scant seconds that become a silly moment. Jack cracks a smile. Miranda quickly follows suit, and they share a laugh. It's a weak laugh, but it grows, overtaking them both until they can hardly breathe.

"Does it still hurt?" Asks Miranda, finally, catching her breath.

"Still a little tender"

"You poor thing"

There is humor in Jack's expression, but there is vulnerability too. "Kiss it better?"

Their eyes linger on one another. "Alright"

As Miranda lowers her knees to the ground, she slowly runs her palms along the contour of Jack's inner thighs, her thumbs brushing across more sensitive areas at the apex of each stroke. Jack bites her lip, wincing as her already sensitive legs tingle at Miranda's every ministration.

And then Miranda plants a dulcet kiss against her thigh, and then another, trailing closer and closer to the hem of Jack's short-shorts. Kiss it better indeed. She revels in Jack's gasps of pleasure, far more girlish than she would allow around anyone else. Eager to hear more, she impatiently grabs the waist of Jack's shorts.

"Wait, hold on"

"Huh?" Miranda pulls away, dazed, "How is it that _you_ are the one stopping me in this scenario?"

"You didn't say it back"

"Huh? What are you-?" Oh yeah. Miranda could kick herself for forgetting. She stands, bends over, and kisses Jack full on the lips with as much intensity and passion as she can muster. It isn't a great kiss all things considered, and it actually hurts a bit towards the end, but they both come away breathless, in a good way. She hesitates for a half second before realizing that, yes, she really and truly means what she is about to say, and she realizes too how relieved she is that this beautiful and flawed creature in front of her said it first. She will never admit it, except perhaps to Jack in the mornings when Jack is still asleep and the sun is still only half-risen, but Jack is much, much, much braver than she is.

This realization makes the words come that much easier. "I love you too, Jack"

She leans in for another kiss. Gentler this time, and much better-performed.

"Now let me prove it to you by putting my tongue in your vagina"

A bit of roughness to cover her embarrassment. Only movie characters should get away with lines like that, but Jack brings them out of her.

"Come to momma!"

They both need to work on their romantic delivery, but that can wait as they fall to the couch, one on top of the other, giggling and giddy like the lovesick teenagers they never got to be.

* * *

AN: Feels like I spent most of this chapter describing Jack waking up. Sorry about the change of pace, it was secondary to the romantic plot but I figured I would put it in there since things will be winding down soon. Dialogue is always tricky, but it helps to imagine the characters saying the lines with the in-game voices. Anyway, thanks for reading. Thanks for reviewing.


	16. A Side-Chapter

Shylene L'Droxis is three-hundred and seven. This isn't a big deal; she has seven hundred years of life to look forward to; plenty of time to act crazy before the matron stage forces her to become all…matronly. Still, she's already gone through most of the archetypal phases of Asari youth. Her dancing wasn't worth shit, much less a steady paycheck, so instead of stripping she became a mercenary. She was eclipse for a while, then various brands of military depending on which planet she was on. She developed a healthy appreciation for shotguns and made enough notches on her bedpost to be proud of herself. It was a wide, wide galaxy, and she wanted to gobble it all up.

But years passed. A whole lot of them, and she grew tired of mercenary work. Wanderlust spent (and more than a little tired of having projectiles dug out of her skin) she returned to Thessia to live with her mom for a while. After two weeks of being useless on the couch, her mother got her a job teaching military tactics at a local university. They were supplementary lessons mostly. You know, target practice, barrier training (one can never put too much work into the barriers), hand-to-hand; that sort of thing.

She went right back into military service when the Reaper War started. Like most people she was pushed to the absolute limit. It was hard for everyone, but when you jump from one unit to another as often as she had, you begin to develop a hefty amount of survivor's guilt. Time after time she would return from a mission with only half of her squad left, only to be grouped soon after with yet another battered group of soldiers. Like crude stitch-work. There was no time to mourn for your comrades. Hell, there was barely enough time to sleep.

But then the war ended. It finally ended and everyone could finally wake up. But the nightmare was still fresh. How do you deal with the image of your fellow soldiers being eaten alive by cannibals? How do you reconcile peace and everyday life when you hear banshees screaming in the dark corners of your own house? She put in a lot of mind-numbing hours towards the reconstruction efforts; anything to get her mind off of…well, everything. All she thought about was the war.

Finally the reconstruction efforts received relief from Earth and Palaven. Freed from her menial labor (much to her chagrin) she took a kind of soul-searching trip to the remote planet of Lesuss. It was minor security detail, she was told, and minor was what she needed. Being away from all the destruction was what she needed. Even her mother told her so.

She hadn't expected to have to deal with Ardat Yakshi.

Well, only one Ardat Yakshi, but even that was an alarming prospect. She and four others were tasked with the restoration of the Ardat Yakshi monastery, all while under the supervision of a Justicar they were all afraid of. Honestly after a month or two Shylene had become more comfortable around the Ardat Yakshi Falere, than around Samara the Justicar.

But her superiors hadn't lied; it really was minor security detail, and Falere was so gracious that it was a wonder anyone thought she needed supervision at all. Shylene allowed herself to get closer to the younger Asari, and by growing close with Falere, she grew close to Samara.

Those months proved eminently beneficial. She learned how to meditate in genuine Justicar fashion under the tutelage of an actual Justicar. From there, she learned the advanced stretching exercises that would later become her livelihood. It was ironic; her biotics had never been more powerful, but she didn't want to fight ever again.

Eventually she left. It would have been easy to stay on Lessus and build a life there; maybe take one of her coworkers out sometime and get a girlfriend...

But that wasn't what she wanted. She wasn't exactly sure _what_ she wanted but she knew it wasn't to settle down. So she traveled to the Citadel and fell in love with it. Everything was so new compared to the few times she was there during her mercenary days. People were so much younger, more vibrant. A whole generation sprouted that would not have a single memory of the Reaper War. Technology had advanced and the skycars were nicer, the housing was better, and species unification had progressed significantly. Aliens she had met a century ago were still around, having barely aged at all thanks to newfangled longevity technology. She had missed out on a lot during her repose in the backwater of Asari space.

It was nice to just flit about for a while, staying with her Krogan Dad and taking up odd jobs to pass the time. But it couldn't last and she eventually risked opening a small school teaching the techniques she learned on Lessus. Business was slow at first, but there was an unexpectedly huge demand for her teachings (though really she shouldn't have been surprised as the only other way people could learn Justicar stretching meditation was to undergo the actual Justicar training program, and not everyone survived that).

Asari threw thousands of credits at her to fortify their skills in a safe studio environment, and they weren't disappointed. It got to the point that biotics from other species started coming too.

This is how she met Jack some fifty years later.

She was approaching the end of her maiden phase; not quite old enough to think about having kids, but still young enough to sit at the young person's table during family reunions. Dating was more nuanced at that age. Sure, she might have picked up a few people at a bar every now and then, but she wanted something a little more substantial than a few one-night stands. It wasn't easy to make a genuine connection anymore; not when she still felt so isolated thanks to the war, and especially not when everyone seemed to be living longer and longer lives.

Deciding to ask out Jack was an easy decision. She had never dated a human before, nor did she even know Jack all that well, but something about the way she carried herself belied a kind of inner-turmoil she could identify with. It was more comfortable to be around someone like that than someone, well, normal. It was this connection that led Shylene to work up the courage to actually ask Jack out on a date, and it was this connection that ultimately sparked their uncanny friendship.

And that is how she met the roommate. Samantha Traynor didn't quite ping on Shylene's radar at first. She wasn't exactly Shylene's type; a bit mousey, a bit standoffish. A non-threatening figure that seemed to be a permanent fixture on Jack's couch. Shylene's first impression of her wasn't great.

And then one night Samantha changed everything, without even trying.

It was scary how Sam made her feel, but exciting at the same time. She had so much depth to her, so much personality. She was sarcastic, funny, and ferociously intelligent. She let herself be childish around Shylene, which made Shylene respond enthusiastically in kind. She wondered if Sam knew how vulnerable she made her feel, how the little touches that seemed to mean little to Sam were so uncomfortably pleasant to Shylene. She felt like a school maiden with a crush and was unsure of what to do about it.

All told it was a little embarrassing. Sam wasn't an anti-social git like Jack was, and that made asking her out all too intimidating a prospect. It was with this in mind that Shylene carried herself to Jack's apartment one day, intent on getting some advice on how to court Samantha Traynor.

* * *

Shylene knows Sam is out today, and if she's lucky Jack won't be. She opens the apartment door without preamble, inputting access codes Sam gave her weeks ago when it became too much of an effort to get up off the couch and open the door herself. Jack is sitting on her living room couch in jeans and a T-shirt. She's tapping furiously on a holo-controller, watching the TV screen as video game screams emanate from the speakers.

"Hey"

"Hey." If Jack is surprised by her entrance she doesn't show it. Her eyes don't deviate from the game. "How'd you get in?"

"I have the access codes"

"You do?"

"Yeah, I got them from Sam a while back. Anyway-"

"Hold on." Jack taps furiously at the projected buttons. She does this for a few seconds with mounting urgency until, her body tensing in a slow-motion wince, the sound of a video game explosion resounds from the speakers. She yells a resentful, unholy "Fuck!" Shylene has the impression that Jack would throw her controller at the wall if it weren't a hologram.

After a moment of tantrum Jack sobers, pausing the game and looking up at her friend. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah." She wonders if the nervousness she feels is more from her fear of how Jack will react or the fear of making herself vulnerable. She _could_ pretend that she has come to do nothing more than hang out, but then that would make her a coward, and Sylene has never thought of herself as a coward. "I wanted to ask your advice on something…and I don't know if you'll be cool about it"

A single eyebrow rises in suspicion. "What?"

"It's about Sam." A silence hangs in the air. "I was thinking of asking her out"

Jack stares into space as she sinks back into the couch cushions. "Oh"

"Yeah"

"Why do you think I would have a problem with that?"

Shylene shrugs. "She's your best friend-"

"So?"

"Well I asked you out first. I don't want things to be awkward…"

"it's not"

"-and…" How to say this with some delicacy? "Didn't you used to have feelings for her?" Well. Mission accomplished.

"You know I did. I told you." Jack recedes into her silence, growing dour as she gives the matter some thought. After a while she gives Shylene a no-nonsense stare. "And besides, it isn't like that anymore"

"I just don't want things to be weird between us"

"Don't worry about it," says Jack with a slight smirk that is less comforting than it was probably intended to be. "I mean, really it was more of a crush than anything, and I'm over it now so," she shrugs, "fuck, go for it"

"Seriously?"

Jack smiles, perhaps a little ruefully. "Yeah. Jesus, you could have just asked me up front. Didn't have to be so weird about it. I thought you had a bomb strapped to your chest or something"

Shylene sighs in relief. "Sorry, I just wasn't sure if-"

Jack laughs, "Would you stop being so serious? You're freaking me out"

"Yeah…okay, right. Sorry." That's a load off.

"Was that all you came here for?"

"Actually there was something else"

"What?"

"I was hoping to get your advice on-" Somewhere in the apartment a toilet flushes. Shylene's eyes widen in panic. "Is Sam home?" She whispers hoarsely, "I thought she was out"

"Jeez, calm down. You should see the look on your face. Yeah, she's out. I got other guests"

Indeed she does.

The bathroom door opens in mid-flush, and as it does a well-dressed woman steps out, somehow heightening the lingering tension in the room by doing little else than making an entrance. There is a holo-controller hanging loosely from her omni-tool. She takes a look at Shylene, and then at Jack.

She looks confused. "Hey…"

Maybe it is Shylene's peculiar mood, but she hardly pays attention to the woman's face at first glance. But something about her is familiar; the red hair, the features, even that uniform. She looks again.

She swallows.

Shylene knows that Jack and Samantha are personal friends of _the _commander Shepard; they were former crew even. But not even that prepares her for the enormity of being in the presence of the legend herself. It's…a little underwhelming actually. Maybe because the former commander isn't wearing any shoes, and her socks have little cartoon characters on them. Or maybe because she was clearly playing video games with Jack while in the bathroom.

When no-one answers her, Shepard nods as if to say "Alright then you weirdoes," before shuffling back to her place on the couch. She takes a moment to make herself comfortable, wiggling a bit to attain optimum cushion-to-ass ratio. Dissatisfied, she shifts once more before leaning back with a sigh.

She looks again at Shylene, and then to her side at Jack. Jack, for her part, braces herself for the inevitable.

"So…"

Jack tenses. That's a familiar tone. She remembers hearing it in the darkness of the Normandy's belly, in those days gone by when she was all rage and vengeance, and Shepard was all mild curiosity and maddening earnestness. She knows there's nothing mocking in Shepard's methods. They're almost maternal actually. That doesn't stop her from being any less wary when Shepard says:

"…You have a thing for Traynor, huh?"

Jack flinches. "No," She says in an annoyed deadpan, "For the last. Fucking. Time. It was a small crush and I don't want to talk about it. So drop it. Please"

Shepard purses her lips thoughtfully. "Does Miranda know?"

"What part of 'just drop it don't you fucking understand!? No! Miranda has no idea, so let's keep it that way! Not that I have anything to feel guilty about- because they were dating first- and it's really complicated so…ugh! You know what? Fuck you. I'm done. I don't have to explain myself"

Shepard looks helpless and, unsure of how to respond, she turns to Shylene. "Hey, we haven't met. I'm Jane"

Shylene extends a hand. "Commander. Shylene L'Droxis. I'm a friend of Jack's." Even years after leaving military service Shylene still can't rid herself of the urge to stand at attention. "It's an honor to meet you"

"An honor eh?" Shepard looks back to Jack, who stares back dourly. "Hear that? She's _honored_ to meet me. You, on the other hand, can't even be bothered to keep me updated about your love life. You've been holding out on me Professor"

"Since when are you ever interested in _anyone's_ love life?"

"I'm not. But you're like my kid sister. My interest is obligatory"

Jack glares. _"What. The. Fuck_?"

"What? You're younger than me, you used to hate me, and we now have a great relationship. Pus you're dating one of my best friends and you made her get a tattoo…So, yeah, if all that doesn't scream 'kid sister' then I don't know what does"

Jack lets out a resigned groan, wishing that the couch would swallow her up.

Shepard turns back to Shylene, giving her the greatest 'savior of the galaxy' smile she can muster. "It's an honor to meet you too"

"Oh! Not at all. The honor is all mine Commander. Er…do I call you cammander or-"

"Jane is fine. My friends call me Shepard, but really everyone calls me that"

Shylene smiles. "Shepard then. I…hope I'm not interrupting anything here"

"Actually I'm skipping work." She holds up her holo-controller without the slightest bit of embarrassment.

"She's _babysitting_ me," yells Jack, in a way meant to remind everyone that she's still in the room. "There's a rifle under the couch and everything"

Shepard pouts. "It's not babysitting, its protective detail"

"You're not a spectre anymore. Hell, you aren't even military! And I can take care of myself!

"If I let you have your way you would go charging off again!"

"That's my decision to make!"

"Then learn some responsibility first!"

"Ugh! You're ruining my life!"

Shylene is torn between remaining silent and wanting to point out how much the two of them remind her of her relationship with her mother. "Uh…maybe I should come back…"

"Oh, please stay! Sit, sit!"

"By all means," Jack grumbles, "invite people to my house like you own the place"

Shylene smiles, some of her usual humor returning to her. "Are you saying I'm not welcome here Jack?"

Jack throws up her hands. "I'm saying too many people have the access codes to my house!"

And then Shepard turns those deep, deep eyes on her, and Shylene can't help but feel like the only person in existence. This is what it must be like; the moment the people in the documentaries talk about, how Shepard somehow injects herself in your persona problems and finds a way to fix it. To this day the name "Shepard" had come to synonymize not only heroism and badassness, but also not-necessarily-consensual Samaritanism.

"So…you like Traynor. You any good at chess?"

And so began the conversation that would change Shylene's life.

* * *

What had Jack and Shepard told her? The memory is a bit fragmented, and its hard to remember when she's this nervous.

_Sam works long hours, and after work she likes to sit back and unwind. You know, just kick the shit. She loves it when you had a drink or a meal ready for her. Don't look at me like that; I only did it when it was her birthday or something. The point is she loves to be spoiled. Like a fucking princess. That's your in._

Spoil her. Huh. Isn't that what Shylene's been doing? Hanging around and being a friend? Getting her cereal when she's too lazy to get off the couch? Probably dropping more hints of her attraction than are advisable, but the damage (if it is indeed damage) is already done. It's not like Sam has responded in any way, though that could mean that she's ignoring the hints, or that she's simply oblivious.

Or she's waiting for Shylene to make a move, which is much more unnerving.

Or maybe she just wants to be friends? That would be…difficult. And potentially awkward. The last thing Shylene wants is to put Traynor in that position, much less herself.

But now's not the time to worry about that stuff. Right now, worry about spoiling Sam.

After weeks of repose in her apartment, eating junk-food and vegging out on the couch, Samantha Traynor had finally returned to work. It was not a triumphant homecoming, but more of a sheepish repatriation. The first few days had been a tad stressful as her co-workers were terrible gossips, and had been discussing the particulars of Sam's sabbatical for some time now. How they had found out about her romp in the office with a visiting Asari delegate was beyond her, but their inane questioning grated her nerves.

They grated her nerves so much in fact that Sam left work early that day just as Shylene was in her apartment, sitting rigidly still on the couch, trying to think of something accommodating to say when Sam got home precisely three hours from now.

Of course Sam returned much sooner, and when she spotted Shylene in her home she exhaled deeply, as if to rid herself of the day's stresses.

"Oh good, you're here"

She doesn't exactly sound surprised. Nor particularly overjoyed either. Huh. Shylene is speechless as Sam tosses her bag on the table and her jacket on a nearby sofa. Shylene is silent as Sam collapses onto the couch next to her and falls sideways onto Shylene's lap. She nuzzles the Asari's thighs, less to show affection and more to get comfortable.

"I just had the worst day. Where's Jack?" Her eyes already closed.

"She…uh," where _was_ Jack? Why is it so hard to think when Sam is pressed against her like this? "Jack's out with Miranda's sister. To uh, get to know each other better"

Sam snorts. "That should be fun." She turns over so she's lying on her back. She opens her eyes to look up at Shylene. "I do wish she weren't out so often, but I suppose it's okay if it means I get to monopolize your time"

It was true that Shylene was more Jack's friend than Sam's, but the Asari had built such a rapport with Sam over the weeks that such comparisons are now a moot point.

"I'm glad you feel that way"

Sam gives her a weird look that sends the butterflies in her stomach aflutter. It isn't a bad feeling, but it isn't exactly promising either. "I'm glad you're glad"

And because Shylene can't think of an appropriate response she laughs. _By the Goddess, why the fuck can't I relax!? _"I'm glad you're glad I'm glad"

Sam doesn't seem to mind it, shaking her head and smiling ever so faintly. "You weirdo. Were you just sitting here waiting for me to come home?"

"Er…" Is yes a creepy answer? "…Yes? I thought we could finish the season of _Outlaws_"

"Ooh yes, I'm glad you didn't watch them without me. I wanted to see your face as-" Sam slaps her hand to her mouth. "Oops, almost spoiled it for you"

Shylene could care less what happens next on that silly TV show. "C-careful"

Sam sits up, looks her in the eyes. "Is everything okay? You seem…strange"

"Aren't I always strange?"

"Yes, but you know what I mean"

"I'm…fine. Just feeling a bit dizzy. I think I overexerted myself in class this morning"

"Oh you poor dear. Is everything alright? Can I get you anything?"

The concern is touching in its sheer earnestness. It makes it feel like they're already beyond the friend stage of their relationship. Of course they're not, but what does it hurt to daydream?

"It's fine"

"Are you sure? There's probably something in Jack's medicine cabinet for biotic headaches. Hold on-" as she gets up the doorbell rings. "Who could that be?"

Shylene scrambles to her feet before Sam can get to the door. "That's probably for me"

"Huh?"

Traynor looks at her in confusion. In response Shylene hurries to the door where a young man is waiting with a few bags. She takes them, and after paying the bill she sends the kid off with a tip. She turns to Traynor with a smile on her face, holding the bags up. Each bag has the same illegibly stylish logo.

"Surprise~!" She cheers lamely.

"What is this?"

Her hands occupied with the bags, Shylene can't rub her arm in the typical show of nervousness. "It's takeout. From that place you like. The sushi place. I, uh, had them deliver. To congratulate you on getting through your first week back to work"

Did that sentence sound as lame as it felt saying? Judging by Sam's smile, either way it doesn't matter.

* * *

_Traynor generally doesn't like to be surprised. It's in the nature of her job. I mean, there's nothing wrong with pleasant surprises, but it makes her weirdly competitive. They make her feel like she isn't in control. And she may not look it, because she's always so flustered, but she's a very take-charge kind of person. I mean, she hit on me by taking a shower in my cabin and leaving the door open. Can you imagine? Don't worry, nothing happened. Anyway, I'm getting sidetracked here. Just be clear with your intentions so she knows where she stands._

The original plan was to light a couple candles to set a quasi-romantic mood. Nothing too steamy of course; it wouldn't do to scare her off. So it couldn't be anything that screamed "Ha! I tricked you! We're on a date right now! We're dating!"

Instead Shylene planned to start by lighting a candle or two, and if Sam asked why she was doing so, Shylene would give her a reassuring smile and say, "For a relaxing effect." From there they would talk casually and little else.

Of course Sam had derailed the candle idea by arriving early, and Shylene was doing a poor job of conducting casual conversation. The sushi, at least, seemed to provide a stimulating diversion.

"Thank you sooo much for doing this. I _love_ Ryusui"

"I thought you might." Thank Jack for that particular tip.

Sam mock swoons after another bite. "So good. What did I do to deserve you?"

"It's no big deal"

"No I'm serious. It's nice to have someone waiting for you at home, especially now that Jack's away so much. Er, not that I consider you a replacement for Jack or anything. She would never do something like this"

Shylene laughs. "Nice save. It's okay I know what you meant"

Apparently reassured, Sam leans back as she pops another bite into her mouth. "This is just what I needed after the day I had"

"Want to talk about it?"

Sam chuckles. "Ask any human man and they'd say you just fell into a trap. Now you have to sit there and suffer while I talk at length about my day"

"Listening to you talk would be a bad thing?" Asks Shylene in genuine confusion.

Sam gives her a funny look, half disbelief and half fondness. "You're a sweetheart"

Shylene tries to laugh it off, her old soldier's bravado leaking out. "Hardly"

Talking to Traynor is like a very complex game of chess. She can't plan for it; all she can hope is to keep playing and hope she's making some good moves. It's very sloppy courting, but with Sam having such a strong effect on her, it's all she can manage. So far, she seems to be doing pretty good.

Sam pauses before taking another bite of sushi. "Actually you know what would go great with this?"

* * *

_If Traynor makes you a mixed drink then that means she's trying to impress you, which is always a good thing. She only does it with friends, which means she considers the two of you to be close. Shepard's right. Romantically, she's a take-charge of the situation kind of girl, so it's a good idea to yield control a bit._

Easily said and easily done. Traynor comes out from the kitchen with two drinks in fancy glasses. The one she hands to Shylene is several shades of deep blue.

Shylene takes a sip. "Is this a full biotic kick?"

"Why yes it is. You have discerning taste madam"

"It's my favorite. How did you know?"

Samantha preens. "Lucky guess"

"I didn't know you did mixed drinks"

Sam shrugs. "It's a talent from my days romping about in undergrad"

"I don't really see you as the 'romping' type"

Sam feigns offense. "Excuse me. I'll have you know I had plenty of girlfriends back then, and I went to a lot of parties, and I did irresponsible things like streaking and stealing policeman's helmets"

Shylene chuckles. "Is any of that actually true?"

Sam sighs. "No. I studied a lot, had a pathetic love-life, and spent most of my time cooped up in my room. I did work at a bar for a while though, hence the mad skills"

"So…no army of girlfriends?"

Sam laughs, "God no. Just the one, and she ended up dumping me at the end of junior year"

Shylene reaches over in mock sympathy. "You poor baby"

Sam swats away the hand before letting it pat her knee reassuringly. "I had a few after that though"

"Oh really? You heartbreaker you"

Sam laughs softly. "It was hardly like that. Just a few flings, one or two serious relationships. Par for the course"

"Did you ever date an Asari?"

The question's out there before Shylene can think about what she's saying. She immediately tenses up. But if Sam thinks the question is strange she doesn't say so. "Asari? No…I've never been with an Asari before. Well, actually that's not true. I did sleep with two of them very recently, during my little…er, phase." She takes a long sip of her drink, and then gives Shylene a strange look as if she's just realized something very important and deep. "What about you? Ever date any humans?"

The question takes Shylene by surprise. Why hadn't she anticipated that?

"No, never. There were a few Turians, one or two Asari. Even a Batarian once, if you can believe that." She smiles teasingly, "Why? You think I'm missing out?"

"You definitely are"

Shylene almost shivers at Sam's teasing tone but manages to keep herself still. Is Sam _flirting_ with her?

"I don't know, we humans have a certain…allure, wouldn't you say? With our scalp fur and our belly-craters"

Shylene laughs. "'I know that's not what they're called. And Asari have belly-buttons too, genius"

"And we're also very, very charming"

"Clearly"

"It's true. You'd better watch out or else I'll have you caught in my human female wiles," Sam wiggles her fingers for effect.

Shylene can't think of anything to say to that. She turns her head so that Traynor can't see her swallow away the nervousness.

* * *

_Remember that Sam's not an idiot. If you put out weird vibes, she's going to pick up on them. _

"That was good," says Sam, reclining against the couch. "I am stuffed. You have my thanks, Lady L'Droxis. Are you sure you weren't a butler in a past life?"

"Ha. Ha. You want me to put on the show now?"

"What?" Sam takes a moment to remember, "Oh, right _Outlaws of the _Code. I completely forgot. Have we really been talking this entire time?"

"You're a regular chatterbox"

"Hey!"

"But you're a cute chatterbox, so it's fine"

"You're cute."

Shylene takes a moment to congratulate herself for being cute.

The screen pops to life with the _Outlaws of the Code_ Season 3 menu screen. Multiple toggles indicate an episode select option, as well as director and actor commentary, behind the scenes shoots, and a documentary on the show itself. Shylene rolls her eyes at the extent to which this franchise sells itself.

"A nice dinner, drinks, stimulating conversation, and now a show," says Sam, shamelessly stretching herself along the length of the couch and draping her legs over Shylene's thighs, "is it my birthday? Did you bring me a pony?"

The episode starts playing, and it is with a sullen resignation that Shylene settles in to watch. The more she thinks about it, the more flimsy her plan seems to get. Honestly, how is she supposed to ask for a date now? It could ruin the whole evening. Besides, Sam looks as if she's about to fall asleep any moment, and it would be lame to ask then. Feeling secure about her decision, Shylene decides to give up for now and try another time.

She smiles ruefully. It's too bad the night isn't panning out, but at least the pressure is off. It's a mountain of weight off of her shoulders, almost enough relief to drown out the small part of herself that's yelling at her for being a coward.

Thirty minutes into the episode and the protagonist is gunning down hordes of mercenaries, as usual, with only two companions to back her up (Shylene scoffs at the lack of realism. Three troops taking out whole squads? Dream on). The sound of TV gunfire is almost hypnotically peaceful in the dim silence of the apartment. Despite herself, Shylene is mesmerized. The protagonist breaks through a line of enemy troops, unleashing her prowess in a show of biotic martial arts that, though a bit heavy-handed, is completely faithful to Justicar fighting forms. The actress must have trained for it. Impressive. As the credits roll she is breathless.

"Admit it," Says Sam smugly, "you love this show"

Shylene hadn't noticed that she was leaning forward so much, or that she was staring so intently. Or that Sam was even awake. She collects herself, leaning back against the couch. "Its…pretty good"

"And to think when we met you wouldn't even give it a chance"

"Keep talking Traynor, smug isn't a good color on you"

Sam gasps as if scandalized. "Everything is a good color on me. Unlike you I wear colors other than black and blue"

"I wear more colors than that"

"Uh, no, you kind of don't"

Feeling a little bold (and more than a bit tipsy) Shylene lunges, displacing Sam's legs from her thighs; she leans over Sam, bringing two blue hands to either side of the human's face. Sam's breath is short but she doesn't react violently. That's a good sign. She even smiles. An even better sign.

"You giving me lip missy?" Shylene says in bad imitation of old western speak.

Sam giggles. "Have you been watching cowboy movies?"

"No, but I've heard you silly humans use the jargon often enough"

"Hmm," Sam looks into Shylene's eyes with considerable fondness. But then her expression turns serious, and her tone changes to reflect that seriousness. "Shylene?"

The music of the selection screen plays on a soft loop; an exciting, adventurous tune that creates an odd ambiance. In the shifting light of the TV, Samantha Traynor looks especially surreal, and almost excessively beautiful. Shylene realizes too late how suggestive their positioning is, but is too mesmerized by Sam's curious eyes to do anything about it.

"Yeah?"

"Is this a date?"

* * *

_If I know anything about Traynor it's that she has a strong attention to detail. It usually doesn't work around other people because she gets anxious easily, but if she's comfortable she'll start noticing all the weird idiosyncrasies that define you. It can get…really intense really fast._

"Huh?"

Sam repeats the question. "All this; the sushi, the show, the candles in your bag; is this a date?"

"I…uh…" How had she even _seen_ the candles?

"Because there's really only so much I can infer while being pinned underneath you"

She wants to scramble off of her, assume a less incriminating position. She wants to, but she can't, caught in Traynor's ocular tractor beam. _This is it Shylene_! She thinks to herself; _Moment of truth_: "Uh…um…." She swallows. "Huh?" _Dammit!_

"Oh dear, have I broken you?"

Shylene screws her brow, hoping to the goddess that she doesn't look constipated in her indecision. She is silent for a long while before she finally manages to say, "N-no"

"Huh?"

"It's not a date"

"Oh." Sam's previous enthusiasm deflates considerably. Is that disappointment, or relief?

Numb, Shylene climbs to her feet. "Um…I…should probably get going"

"What? Not because of me I hope." Sam gets to her feet too, but maintains a noticeably respectful distance. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just thought…"

"No, no, it's late. I…" she gesticulates uselessly with her thumb; that universal 'I gotta go' sign. "I have to get up early, so…"

"Oh, yeah, that's fine"

Shylene makes a rigid walk to the door, Sam trailing after her like an attentive puppy. Things become awkward again as Shylene lingers there, hand raised to the access panel. She takes a deep, almost shuddering breath. She turns. Sam is right there, looking worried. Would it be alright to hug her?

"Well good night"

Sam smiles, apparently comforted by that. "Good night Shylene." When Shylene doesn't move Sam cocks her head curiously. "Was…there something else?"

"Yeah, um. So…this wasn't a date-"

"Right," Responds Sam dryly, "I got that"

"No. I mean, _this_ wasn't a date. But," _Say it you cowardly bitch!_ "Maybe you'd like to go on one sometime? With me?"

Sam's expression softens, and she looks like she wants to laugh but doesn't. "Just to be clear, you _are_ asking me out now"

"Y-…yes"

"On a date"

"Yes," Says Shylene with some conviction.

"Do you know where you're taking me?"

"I…honestly hadn't figured that out yet." She smiles, her usual personality quickly seeping past her nerves. Al of a sudden she remembers to breathe. "I'll probably wing it"

Sam looks like she wants to break out laughing. Instead she nods, smiles. "Wing it, huh? Okay then. That sounds…nice"

"That's a yes right? Not a maybe?"

"Yes you silly girl. You may take me out on a date, and you may wing it"

That's all Shylene needs to hear for the butterflies to swarm whirlwind patterns in her stomach. Ah, vindication. Victory is a drink that goes down smooth. "Really?" Sam gives her a strange look. "I mean, great. Cool. That's…yes. Awesome. I'll…call you. Or do you want to call me? Aw shit I forgot how dating works." She opens the door and slumps against the doorframe. She smiles. "Okay, I'll call you. That is unless I haven't managed to scare you away yet"

"You're probably the dorkiest person I've ever met, but no, you haven't sacred me away yet"

"Good…okay, good. So I'll call you"

Sam laughs now, "Yes, okay"

Hug? No hug? Shylene's indecision prompts her to leave before she can panic again, leaving an amused Sam stifling chuckles in her wake.

* * *

Some Time Later

* * *

Several weeks and more than a few dates pass. Shylene lies exhausted on a bed of tangled sheets. The blanket has long fallen off the side of the bed, all the better to let the ceiling fan cool Shylene's naked skin. North of Eden Prime's equator, the climate is just shy of sweltering. Luckily there is little insect life, and the sentient gas bags are hardly invasive, which allows for Shylene to keep the balcony doors open, letting the breeze in. The curtains billow placidly into the room.

Shylene closes her eyes, grounding herself in the moment. She's too tired to do anything else. Inhale, exhale. Sex has never tired her this much before. Her limbs are rubber, and she has a dull headache from embracing eternity one too many times.

"Hey there sweet thing"

Shylene groans, remaining immobile as another body disturbs the balance of the bed. Sam settles close to her, draping herself over Shylene's body. If Shylene was hot before she is absolutely burning now. It is both pleasant and unpleasant.

It is confusing and wonderful, and she might do something about it if she had the energy to resist. Somehow letting Sam cuddle her seems like the best option anyway, even if the extra heat is murder.

"By the goddess you're hot"

Sam giggles. "Why thank you"

"Not what I meant. It's absolutely burning on this planet and you're only making it worse"

"Weren't you a soldier before? If you can handle being shot at you can handle a little cuddling"

She has a point there. But it's still ridiculously hot. "Why did we come here again?"

"Pretty scenery? Romantic resort? Sex marathon?"

If Shylene's eyes were open she would have rolled them. "If I'd known you would jump me as soon as we got to our room I would have prepared myself accordingly"

Sam chuckles. "You loved it"

"Yes I did." Who would have thought their first time would happen the first time they went away together? It's a no-brainer, but Sam had made her wait for so long that Shylene was ready for a year-long dry spell. Apparently Sam was not.

Shylene summons the energy to roll over. Sam let's her, but as soon as the Asari is on her back she lets her weight fall on her all over again. Sam's hot sweaty torso pressed against her own arouses her through the exhaustion, but Shylene knows that if she capitalizes on the opportunity she won't be able to get up in the morning. Instead she settles for a chaste kiss on the lips. She smiles. "You made me wait for this"

"Yes I did"

"Several weeks in fact"

"I hope it was worth it"

"If I'd know it would be this mind-blowing I think I could have waited years"

"You're so cute," says Sam, planting another kiss. Shylene congratulates herself for being cute, but falters as Sam gets off of her. Her skin grows inordinately cold at the sudden absence. "Come on, I got you some juice. Have to keep yourself hydrated"

Shylene clutches at the air lamely. "Come baaaaa~ck. I don't wanna get up"

But she does get up, prompted by Sam's insistence. She hobbles to the veranda where they overlook a beautiful mountain range in the distance, as well as the verdant wilderness leading up to it. The stars are out in full force, and the sound of the wind blowing in from the ocean roots them in the moment. The resort is well-suited to these scenes, far away from the more densely-populated zones of Eden Prime.

Shylene succumbs to Sam's pull, settling on her lap and letting her head rest on Sam's shoulder. She pulls the hems of her thin robe closed as she struggles not to fall asleep. The scenery _is_ pretty, very soothing. Not falling asleep will be very difficult indeed.

"I suppose you'll have to meet my parents now," Sam wonders aloud.

"Really?"

"Absolutely. I've been telling them about you for weeks now"

"I haven't told my parents about you"

"Really?" Sam's tone is testy. "Not even a little bit?"

"Well it would be a whole song and dance if I did. If I tell my Dad then he'll get all of the family on the citadel together for a big 'ol Krogan cookout. Trust me, you do _not_ need to be overwhelmed by that just yet"

"Aww, but you have such great stories about your cousins"

"Yeah, but those are the aged, mature ones. Ever since the war I've gotten like fifty more of them, and they are a handful. Most of them headbutt everything that moves. My shins still hurt from my cousin Trole's birthday party." Shylene sighs. "Anyway, if I tell my Dad about you then he'll call my Mom and she'll insist that we visit her on Thessia and that is a whole 'nother crowd of aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews to deal with"

"You don't talk about your mother's side of the family much"

"It's not that I don't like them or anything. They mean a lot to me, but they can be…over curious. When I bring you to meet he expect to be hit on a lot, especially by my cousin Sheena. She's half Hanar. Not subtle at all. The last time I brought someone to meet the family she was really insufferable. We ended up fighting with our biotics and we made a mess in the house." She laughs at the memory. "I do love her though. She's just an oddball.

"Now that I think about it, I would be the first one in the family to bring a human home. Oh goddess, my Mother's reaction alone…"

"You think she won't like me?"

"Are you kidding? She would love you. She's just so subtly nosy. She'll try to learn your whole life's story on the first day." They enjoy a moment of silence before Shylene speaks up again. "What about your parents? Would they like me?"

"I don't see why not. They aren't xenophobic"

"Yeah, but aliens tend to be weird when their children bring Asari home"

"I'm sure they would love you"

"I'm glad"

"I'm glad you're glad"

"I'm glad you're glad I'm- ow!"

In apology for biting Shylene's shoulder Sam kisses the spot again and again. It's ticklish and amazing.

Another silence stretches before them. Shylene feels her eyelids grow heavy, sleep tugging her towards the bed. She yawns, and Sam takes that as a hint. They shuffle to the bed, collapsing softly onto it. It's colder now, so Sam pulls a sheet over them and settles in close. They will need to separate later as the day nears and the climate grows hotter, but for now they can enjoy each other's bodies pressed against one another.

As she falls asleep Shylene thinks about what her family would think about Sam. And as she thinks that she realizes that she wouldn't mind bringing Sam to meet them. Her Krogan family, her Asari family; she wants them all to meet her girlfriend, and that realization alone makes her happier than she could imagine.

Sam's parents? She wants to meet them too. How exciting! How mundane! In the morning they will have breakfast at the resort restaurant, maybe hike a bit or play on the beach, and soon the vacation will be over and they get to return.

Somehow with Sam, even that is worth looking forward to.

* * *

Author's note: Don't tell me I'm not being to fluffy now. I know am. I can't help it. Anyway, most of this has been done for a while; I just didn't know how to end it. But I have, and its done. Huzzah!


	17. A Conclusion

AN: An inauspicious end. Thank you all for reading, and thank you even more for your encouragement. If you've made it this far, then I hope you've enjoyed it. Sorry for any mistakes. As ever I've edited it myself.

* * *

Varren pups do not stay pups for long. They reach maturity after a few weeks, growing larger and heavier until you can't lift them anymore and you can fit your head in their mouths. At this point if they aren't already domesticated then they are likely to go feral. Fortunately for Miranda her girlfriend's Varren was raised in a loving home environment, complete with a steady diet, obedience lessons, and plenty of kisses.

But a Varren is a Varren, and will always be a Varren.

"Eezo let go of my couch this instant!"

Not knowing many words beyond "stay," "roll over," good boy" and a few other staples, Eezo does not let go of the couch.

The couch is not in his jaws, but is suspended in mid-air, a biotic aura keeping it aloft. Eezo looks up at it curiously, as if only half aware that he is the one keeping it there. Miranda fumes. She doesn't dare try to pull it down with her own biotics lest she trigger a detonation, but she can't very well pull it down with her hands.

"Eezo, no!"

Eezo pants happily.

"Eezo!"

Eezo keeps panting happily.

"Damn it!"

Jack told her what she needed to do in situations like these, but the solution is something Miranda is loathe to do. But she can't very well leave the couch up there, or else it'll fall and break and she doesn't need the grief of picking out another friggin' couch. Resigned, she makes her way to the panting animal, who is resting stoutly on his haunches like a Chinese lion. His blank eyes angle from side to side curiously.

He is unused to being in Miranda's company without Jack around, but even now he knows what's coming. He lays on his side, panting excitedly as Miranda reaches for his belly, tongue lolling out his mouth and leaving a patch of drool on the floor's hardwood finish. Miranda rolls her eyes, mourning her apartment's recent state of almost perpetual dampness.

She knows what she has to do.

Tummy rub!

She rubs his tummy in succinct circles, scratching at the soft underbelly. He makes soft keening noises of enjoyment, his legs twitching to the tune of every scratch. Above them the couch slips out of place, the blue aura dissipating. Before it can fall Miranda catches it with a suspension field, and lowers it slowly to the floor.

It is a task that takes both her hands.

Miranda isn't the sort of person to shrug from a challenge just because it's icky. Indeed, she has worked with Varren a few times before. But this is not just any Varren. This is Eezo; Jack's Varren. When you rub his tummy he becomes very affectionate. And as soon as you stop rubbing his belly he has a nasty habit of showing just how affectionate he can be.

"Eezo, no"

He's on her before she can get away, licking her face with that large purple tongue. It is disturbingly smooth, and broad enough to leave broad swathes of drool on her face and clothes. Some of it even gets in her hair.

"Eezo, off! Off! Get off you stupid creature!"

After a few more "Offs!" Eezo gets the picture and bounders away, finding a nice place near a vent to settle down. He walks in a few dozen circles ("Idiot," says Miranda), and lies down for a nap. Using biotics always tuckers him out.

Miranda watches with resentment, her face now covered in drool. She shakes her head with narrowed eyes.

And she had just gotten out of the shower too.

* * *

"Eezo no"

"Eezo stop that!"

"Eezo off"

These are the words Miranda says most often when pet-sitting for her girlfriend. Eezo loves her place. He had started to accompany Jack on her increasingly frequent sleepovers and delights in the wider space and increased number of things to drool on. But now Jack is off speaking at a conference, and with Sam off on her own vacation, Miranda is stuck with the animal, alone.

Not twenty minutes after getting home and settling on her couch for some much-needed recreational reading, Eezo lifts his considerable bulk onto the cushions and lays his massive head on her lap.

"Eezo…"She says warningly.

He doesn't budge, and whines.

Eezo is a strong proponent of physical contact, and Jack is usually only too happy to give it to him, showering him with kisses and tummy rubs and as much petting as he can get. With Jack gone, Eezo looks for similar affection in Miranda. She gives it to him, albeit reluctantly. At present she grudgingly allows him to rest his head on her lap without launching him to the far side of the room. He can take it too (enjoys it even), she's done it before. But Jack reacted poorly to seeing her animal sailing through the air like a giant football, so Miranda doesn't do it anymore.

Miranda pets him between his eyes. "You're lucky she loves you so much"

He sniffles as if to say, "So are you." Or maybe he just sniffles, as he is a Varren and lacks the brain capacity to communicate or even understand what she's saying.

* * *

Eezo cannot be left alone for too long. Oh, five or six hours are fine, but after that he starts getting anxious. He jumps onto the furniture and claws at the walls. Sometimes he even starts throwing things about with his biotics. It's an ugly scene to come home to. Luckily he is tame enough to accompany Jack to her job, and Jack is famously eccentric enough to get away with it.

But Jack is gone, and Miranda works long hours.

Shriven and Bith form an attachment to Eezo almost immediately. Perhaps it's a Vorcha thing or maybe they're just both avid Vorcha enthusiasts. Either way he is putty in their hands, rolling on the floor to allow them better scratching access. He licks their coarse faces with an enthusiasm matched only by his love of chewing expensive footwear. The sight of two Vorcha cooing over him is a sight to behold.

Unfortunately she cannot just delegate her assistants to Verrn-sitting, as their responsibilities have grown so rapidly that they can really only spare a few minutes with the creature at a time. At this rate Alkahest may soon become the first intergalactic conglomerate to come under the ownership of a Vorcha. Huh. There's a kind of appeal to that.

And so Eezo accompanies Miranda to her office. The employees gape at the sight of the hulking creature following her docilely, and the board of directors cannot help but shift uncomfortably while he is draped at her feet. Miranda finds herself liking the attention. In the afternoon she gives Eezo walks around the office square. He has a welcome intimidating effect on the usual gaggle of people who hit on her.

Sometimes she doesn't like the attention very much.

Having Vorcha assistants is intimidating enough. Then there is her ruthless reputation for not only surviving a professional hit in her own office, but proceeding to hunt down all of the thugs in her building. But with Eezo around….well, Varren aren't exactly lap pets. He makes her seem a bit crazy, like a warlord casually asserting her dominance. It is this reputation that makes the day's appointments a little awkward.

Namely, these appointments involve meeting with different charities and deciding based on the merit of their presentation, which ones to offer a grant. Having extensive knowledge of how operations like these work, Miranda takes it upon herself to meet with the representatives. Being a little more overworked than usual, she hadn't thought of how they might react to a Varren freely roaming the room.

"I see from your proposal that your organization has planned this out quite thoroughly

"Yes Ma'am. A great portion of our efforts lie in providing relief and education to impoverished areas. But no true and lasting change can occur when-" Eezo bumps his nose into the young Turian's leg. "Ah!"

"Eezo! Get over here! I apologize, he's just curious. Please, go on"

"Oh, quite alright. I have an Earth dog at home so…" The Turian lowers his feet from the chair. "*Ahem* Right. Where was I? No true and lasting change can occur unless we lobby for policies that help other species get an equal footing with the more dominant ones"

"Are you talking about affirmative action?" She says with some interest.

The Turian scratches his jaw. "The job market is too controversial for a charity of our size to be involved in. No, we deal in housing aid. Did you know that most realtors won't let humans buy or rent houses in Turian-heavy neighborhoods?"

"You're kidding"

"Not at all ma'am, the statistics speak for themselves. Don't get me started on the steering used on Krogan and Quarians. It really is quite horrendous"

"So what would your plan entail?"

"We would lobby for more-" Suddenly he yelps, jumping out of his seat only to fall back into it as Eezo tugs willfully at his boot.

"Eezo! Bad! Get over here!" Eezo lets go of the boot, slinking to the other side of the desk to sit at Miranda's feet. "Are you alright? I do apologize"

The Turian shrugs off his discomfort. Those were brand new boots! But he bought them to make a good first impression. The backing of Miranda Lawson would be an immense boon to his organization. If he must sacrifice a boot or two to do so, then he will.

"That's fine. I was thinking of getting some new footwear anyway. Anyway, as I was saying…"

He gets through the rest of the presentation with aplomb, and leaves the office with a smug look at his competition. They only have eyes for his un-booted foot.

"Show in the next one," says Miranda. To Eezo she says, "No biting"

* * *

Jack's return necessitates a long kiss at the spaceport, a hug that lasts embarrassingly long, and a drive back home using Miranda's personal skycar. As she listens to Jack chatter away about the conference (reflecting on how odd it is that Jack went to an academic conference in the first place) she schemes on what the two of them will get up to when they are alone.

But again, she forgot about Eezo. Why does she keep doing that?

As soon as she opens the door Eezo jumps on her, licking and pawing ("Eezo, down! Dammit!"). But when he sees Jack he goes crazy, lifting himself on his hind legs and falling against her. She laughs and embraces his barrel-torso even as he starts licking her face, eager and giddy like the pup he once was. When he gets down he insistently nuzzles her hands and stomach.

"Oh who's a good boy?! Who's a good boy?! Who's a good boy!?"

"Jack, if he doesn't know the answer the first time I doubt he'll know the next two times"

They have both missed her, but sadly Miranda's vindication will have to wait until later.

Not that just being near her isn't enough. It's intoxicating; her mere presence is a light to which Miranda gravitates all too willingly. Jack's voice, Jack's smile, Jack's touch; it's comforting, grounding. If this feeling could be packaged then Miranda could make million.

So yes, it's a shame that sex is not immediately forthcoming, but watching Jack overjoyed at seeing her Varren again, putting on that ridiculous cutesy voice, is too adorable to interrupt.

Mirada fixes them some drinks as they sit in the circle of couches that serve as her living room. They sit very close together, and so Eezo has trouble deciding on which lap to rest his head. He ultimately decides on Miranda's, much to Jack's wry amusement.

"What can I say? I have a great lap"

"Yeah you do. Good for all kinds of things, like sitting on, grinding on…"

"You're incorrigible." Says Miranda as if she wasn't thinking something along the same lines not five minutes ago. "I missed you." She says quietly, like she has to admit it; something whispered under blankets and shy smiles.

"You already said that at the spaceport"

"It bears repeating"

""It bears repeating," Who says things like that?" Jack has a laugh at her expense. Then, "I missed you too"

They kiss. Nothing that can escalate into something else. Eezo is too good a mood-killer.

They pull back, looking meaningfully into each other's eyes.

Finally: "I should probably get going"

"Really? I thought you could stay the night"

"I have to get to work in the morning. No rest for the wicked. Besides, I know you're just dying to get Eezo out of here"

"That's not true.,' Says Miranda, scratching the Varren's head, "We've bonded. I'll miss him"

"You just don't want me to leave"

"No it's true. Look," Miranda motions with her hand and, sure enough, he angles his head upward to nuzzle it.

Jack laughs. "That's a nice trick," she says, getting up. She makes her way to the door and gestures for Eezo to come. A fewtaps to the entrance console opens the front doors. "But we're still leaving"

Miranda languorously follows her, placing a possessive arm around Jack's waist. "It's a shame; he has so much more room to run around in here"

"That's true…"

"And he likes to sleep on my couch. He's nuts for it in fact"

"Uh-huh…"

Miranda doesn't even realize where she's going with this. People surprise themselves when they want other people around. "And I think that, despite everything, I'll miss him. I'll miss him licking me in the morning, and I'll miss how he biotically throws things when he gets angry"

"Eezo doesn't do any of that"

"Oh? Who am I talking about then?"

Jack's eyes widen ever so slightly. A hesitant muscle pulls the edge her mouth up in a slight smile. "What are you saying, Miranda?"

Miranda closes the door with a fist to the interface, leaning in close to Jack to give her a kiss on the neck. "That's what they do isn't it?" She says Nervous and excited at the same time. "People move in together after a while"

Jack laughs, pushing Miranda back gently. "You're cute, but let me think about it first"

"Right." It's like a spell is broken." You're right. I'm sorry, I'm being clingy aren't I?"

"It's fine. I like it"

"I'll…see you tomorrow then?"

"Yeah. Tomorrow"

They kiss and part. Eezo gazes balefully at Miranda as the elevator doors slide closed. Just another aspect of Jack's weird life that has grown on her.

* * *

Sam sighs, dropping the last box onto the loading unit. Jack had opted not to hire movers, and despite her disinclination for strenuous physical labor, Sam has volunteered to help her move. She couldn't move as much as Jack, Miranda, Shylene or Liara (as she is not Biotic), but she can move one box at a time with Shepard.

"You going to be okay?"

Realizing that they were getting in the way more than they were helping, Shepard and Sam retire to the living room. It is by no means an empty room, even with all of Jack's belongings gone, but even so it seems desolate. Without Jack's things the apartment is no longer entirely home.

"Yeah, I must confess to some feeling of loneliness but…it's not like she's moving to another planet or anything. We can still see each other"

"That's true"

"But it won't be the same"

Shepard shakes her head. "It won't"

Sam takes a deep breath. "I'm actually fairly broken up about all this. She's my best friend you know"

"I know"

"Remember when you first found out that we would be roommates? You were so surprised, and Jack got offended and yelled "What? You don't think a girl like her can like someone like me!?"

Shepard sniggers. "Yeah, I seriously misread the situation. There's a joke in there; about lesbians moving in too quickly"

"Don't be offensive"

"I'm not! Come on, you can't blame me for having misgivings"

"Oho, you underestimate me commander. I can get along with anyone"

"I suppose your awkward amicability has a universal appeal"

"Hey!"

Shepard laughs, and Sam can't help but join her. Their laughter recedes into the empty spaces of the room. "You and Jack hit it off pretty quickly didn't you?"

"Like a Volus and his bank account"

"Now who's being offensive?"

They are interrupted by Liara walking into the room, hands on her hips. Demanding, but kind; Liara is a rare creature. "What are you two doing here there?" She leans over her bond-mate, giving her a testy look. "You aren't helping us move"

"Can't," replies Shepard, "no mind powers"

"Don't be cheeky"

"You gonna punish me later?"

That gets a smile. "Maybe." Liara leans down, lips pressed almost flush to Shepard's neck. "I have the perfect outfit in mind"

"For me or for you?"

"Definitely for you"

Sam clears her throat. "While I appreciate the inclusion, I can't help feeling just a tad uncomfortable"

The couple, still in their honeymoon phase despite being together for years, looks at her, twin grins meeting her indulgently. Liara is more gracious however, walking around the couch to sit next to her.

"It's been a while since we last spoke Sam. I know I said it earlier but it's good to see you"

"Thanks Liara." Liara interrupts her right as she finishes speaking.

"So Shylene. She seems nice"

"Couldn't wait three minutes to dive right in could you?"

"She's the galaxy's worst busybody," says Shepard. "But she means well"

* * *

The move is uneventful. They load everything up, drive to Miranda's place, and then take everything out. In the morning Jack and Miranda will unpack the boxes themselves, but tonight Miranda is taking them all out to dinner for some Krogan barbecue.

It's a quiet evening. Everyone's tired from moving all day, and the biotics especially load up on the calories to make up for expended energy, wolfing down food like they're running out of time. The sight of Liara and Shylene subtly fighting over a slab of shatha steak is the highlight of the evening.

Jack and Sam keep looking at each other, smiling, but sad. Tonight they'll have to leave for separate homes. The end of an era. It makes a melancholic evening for the both of them, but somehow the dim clatter and happy laughter of their friends makes it a suitable send-off.

At the end of it they linger at the front of the restaurant while everybody says their goodbyes. They embrace wordlessly, and cling to each other for a bit too long. No tears, but they could produce them if pressed.

"I'll miss you"

"I'll miss you too"

"Wanna go to that spa again soon? My treat"

"Seriously? You're going to buy me an entire spa package"

"Yeah. We can watch some episodes of _Outlaws_ after if you want"

"Ugh, even I'm getting tired of that show. Marathoned it with Shylene a few weeks ago"

"Well, we'll do something either way"

Sam laughs, "You know we don't have to force this. We can still be best friends and live apart. People have been doing it for billions of years"

"You'll have to help me through the process. I'm not good at being a normal person"

"You've been saying that for years, Jack. When are you going to realize that it stopped being true a long time ago?"

Jack supposes she doesn't have an answer to that. She smiles.

"G'bye Sam"

"I'll see you later Jack"

* * *

Jack and Miranda are incapable of passive aggression, at least not with each other. Cohabitation has its pitfalls.

Maybe Miranda has forgotten to pick up some milk on the way home, or maybe Jack has grumbled one too many times at having to watch Miranda's dramatic picks for movie night. There are countless ways to push one another's buttons, and the fallout can be explosive. There's yelling, pacing, angry surges of biotic energy; everything short of hitting each other falls in the purview of their argumentation, because they know if they hit one another then they'll start kissing, and someone will be thrown onto a table, someone's clothes will be ripped off, and then they won't get anything resolved.

So Jack's yelling grows a little less heated when Miranda rails at her for not being more accepting of her movies, and Miranda becomes considerably less defensive when Jack explains to her how she _promised_ to pick up the groceries.

Their arguments don't always end in apologies, but they have a way of drawing them out sooner or later. Jack betrays her agitation with her posture. She wears her heart on her sleeve and can't hide how much Miranda's scorn bothers her. The remedy for this is direct confrontation, a walk into the room, a kiss on the lips, and a heartfelt "I'm sorry." Sometimes Miranda will even press their foreheads together; it's cheesy but effective. Jack is putty in the hands of a vulnerable Miranda.

Miranda is better at hiding her emotions. It's an icy wall of stoic glares and taut lips, and Jack has learned how to spot it every time. Apologies are forthcoming in the form of a gift left on Miranda's bedside table, or by doing something nice like cleaning up the office. It's a remnant of shyness that is too endearing not to forgive.

And sometimes they just punish each other accordingly, but neither of them mind that very much.

* * *

"I've said it before and I'll say it again. You have the best rack, in like, existence"

"Thanks, I guess, for the objectification"

"It's a compliment! Mmm, I could rest my head on these suckers for the rest of my life and I'd be happy." To punctuate the point, Jack continues to do just that, one hand placidly groping for good measure.

"You don't have a bad set yourself"

"Are you kidding? I'm built like a fuckin' seventeen year-old boy"

"Ew. That's a mental image I could have done without"

"It's true"

Miranda laughs. "It's not. What? Are you insecure about them?"

"How is this funny to you?"

Miranda chuckles softly, threading strands of Jacks hair around her finger. "All of a sudden the leather belt-bra makes sense. It was a way to act like you didn't care"

"If I wanted to be psychoanalyzed I would be in bed with Kelly Chambers, not you"

"Oh I will so hurt you for that later"

"Mmm…I can't find the energy to care. I'm just too comforted by your supple bazongas"

"You are a lech"

"You love it"

Jack traces patterns over Miranda's bare breast, before propping herself on one elbow and looking down with concentration.

"You know what would look good on there?"

"For goodness sake Jack, I am not getting another tattoo. Three is enough"

"Hear me out. It'll be so cool. I'm thinking like some roses kind of traveling up your side and onto your boob, to show off the curvature"

"You are not tattooing roses on my boobs, Jack"

"You sure? Not even for my birthday?"

"You said yourself that too many tattoos would defeat the purpose of, and I quote, "highlighting the natural flesh-painting that is already there""

Jack frowns. "I said that?"

"Yep. Right after you did the dragon on my thigh. You said it might have been too much"

"Huh. Well the dragon is bitchin'"

Miranda sighs. "That's what Oriana said"

Jack traces patterns along the heft of Miranda's breasts, and her cleavage. They aren't concentrated anymore, she isn't imagining pictures there. She lowers her head back onto its pillows. "Fine. No boob roses. Might be better this way. If you let me draw on you too much I'll get carried away"

"At least you can always rest your head there. Perks of being my live-in girlfriend"

Jack squeezes herself against those beautifully soft mounds. "I love you"

No one had ever said it quite so earnestly.

* * *

Jack awakes with a start, out of breath. Distressed. The damn (Teltin) flashbacks (Cerberus) again (A little girl pumped full of drugs and ready to kill).

"Jack? What's wrong?"

It's dark outside, inside as well. She wants to crawl underneath a desk. She wants to find comfort in the small places. But then Miranda's arms enfold her waist, and pull her back against that soft warmth.

"Bad dream?"

The words are so simple, barely any inflection. Bad dream?

Jack's breathing is heavy, but Miranda calms her. "Yeah"

She closes her eyes. There's a comfort here. A warmth. A softness. She couldn't put it into words if she tried. The nightmare is fresh in her memory, but she knows everything will be alright. In this bed, in these arms, it can't not be.


End file.

Mass Effect, Humor, Romance